


Twinkle Toes

by Prince_Po



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ballet, M/M, Some Fluff, dance, i'm gonna edit the tags later, in which stiles attends a really pretentious art school and derek is a prima ballerina, lots of angst and sexual tension, lots of bloody toes and lots of touching, new York dance academy, or "the prodigal dance son" as stiles puts it, school of american ballet, weak ankles leads to lots of practice, well not so much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Po/pseuds/Prince_Po
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles gets accepted into his dream school, the New York School of American Ballet, where he intends to study dance, primarily ballet, and child education and Derek is the primo ballerino, prodigal dance son, that has been idolized by Stiles since he made his mark in the dance world. Derek ends up needing to fill in as one of the dance teachers and Stiles' lucky freshman class ends up having him, but his weak ankles can't stand the force of Derek (who, funnily enough, gives him weak knees) and it ends up being less than an ideal situation where he needs extra, one on one sessions with the man. And no one seems to understand how hard it is to hide a boner in a tard (that's short for leotard, which Stiles' father still can't understand).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I got this idea when a friend of mine, Eden, reblogged one of the posts I had reblogged on Tumblr of a dancer and him saying it reminded him of Derek and then I shot a Sterek plot into his ask box and we were meant to co-author but we kind of fell out of touch about the subject and I needed to write it so. Yup.
> 
> Also, I have done a lot of research and I do know that men on pointe is rare and not commonly used, and I don't know the inner workings of the Academy, but in my mind, for this story, the males are required to do at least one pointe class a week. Their Ballet 4 class is a toss up of off pointe and on pointe. So yeah.
> 
> Also, I don't know all the terminology so don't get all attitude with me if I mess something up
> 
> I changed the school because I know more about the academy in New York and the process of ranks as well as their schooling than I do Julliard and since Stiles is centered on being a primo ballerino then it works better at the academy. I kind of want him to do a bit of contemporary but it will have to be pushed to the side sadly.

It was the beginning of a new year, or so Stiles kept undyingly reminding Scott as the building ahead of them expanded into their vision. Despite his friends less excited responses to him he knew that he was ready to explode on the inside. Scott just always had a little bit of problem vocalizing his happiness. Or perhaps it was Stiles who just had no filter and spewed out everything that came to mind. 

Whatever. They were walking into the best dance school in the country. 

Okay, that was an exaggeration. 

No, no it really wasn’t.

“Can you believe this, Scott? This is the freaking School of American Ballet! We are walking on S.A.B ground! Can you smell that? That’s S.A.B air, Scott! S.A.B air!” Stiles was on a roll now, unable to stop the lolling of words falling off his tongue as he dragged his duffel behind him. He still had another suit case to carry in to his dorm and a few boxes after that, having opted for packing light (unlike a certain McCall boy who had decided to pack his whole room), but he had the essentials on him. 

And what were the essentials? A mundane human might not know, but primo ballerinos in the works would. Ballet shoes, leotard (two, one black, one navy), granola bars a plenty, water a plenty, extra sweater, and leg warmers. Okay, so maybe the leg warmers were something only he found necessary – Scott constantly felt the urge to pick on his choice of attire – but all the great, classic dance movies had them. Just look at Flashdance for example. 

“Yes, Stiles, I believe it, but unlike you I have the ability to control what comes out of my mouth and the volume in which I speak it,” Scott drawled at his side, rolling his eyes. 

By then a few people that had been wandering around them, either moving in like them, or having already started their semester had glanced over to them, looking resentful of their presence already. 

“Well, I’m sorry to be such a downer on your parade Scott, but I’ve been working up to this my whole life and I know you have too so you can stop being such a sour puss and join me in this celebration.” Stiles smirked and turned into a sloppy pirouette and an even sloppier jete landing with a loud thud on the grass by the path they’d been walking on. 

Scott looked ready to die. 

His face was blank as he regarded Stiles, albeit the corner of his mouth was twitching as he held back a smile. “You’re going to make the admission council regret letting you in,” he stated. 

“Eh, but if I hadn’t had my spunky attitude they wouldn’t have let me in at all, right?” 

Scott shook his head but this time he didn’t keep the smile from crawling onto his crooked face. “Let’s just go find our dorm and then I promise I’ll let you break your ankles with your sloppy technique.” 

“Hey, I don’t have sloppy technique! I did a perfect pirouette right there!” 

“You didn’t even spot!” 

“Maybe because you were the closest thing I could spot and I didn’t fancy seeing your dumb face.”

“Shut up, and keep walking. I’d ask you to go faster but I wouldn’t want you to break your skinny, chicken ankles.” 

With an abashed scoff Stiles went on a full tangent about the state of his legs, throwing facts left and right about many famous dancers in the industry throughout the years that had made it despite their less than average body structure. Thankfully Scott humoured him by embarking in their heated debate, always doing so when they got into this type of situation. 

They finished the trek up to their building and even though by then Stiles was totally engrossed in a rant about the importance of choosing the right bricks for dorms he still had that nagging feeling in the back of his head that continuously reminded him that he was here. He, out of the thousands and thousands that had auditioned, had passed and gotten into the Academy. 

If only his mom could see him now. 

 

 

“Stiles! If you don’t get up in the next two minutes we’re going to be late for class!” Scott shouted at him as he ran out of the bathroom. 

They were both running a little behind schedule and that was maybe because Stiles had set the alarm to the wrong time and then they’d had to wait till the communal shower was free and then they’d missed breakfast. Needless to say, they’d be packing in the protein bars for their first class. 

“I hear this Jensen instructor is super strict too so if you don’t get up right now we’re probably going to be forced to do grand pliés for an hour straight. Come on! Stiles!” 

Scott, at the brink of frustration decided it was the right time to jump on the bed. Stiles had been in the process of waking up, even having fully reached a sitting position but it seemed that wasn’t enough. Fingers locked in his sleep mussed hair that clung to the residues of the hair wax he’d put in yesterday, Stiles was in for a surprise. 

The jump on his bed from his muscular friend sent him up about a half foot into the air. His knuckles caught on a few strands of his hair till they yanked out of his scalp. “What the hell?!” he shrieked, voice cracking hoarsely like it did every morning before he’d had a chance to clear it. His landing was less than graceful after his little jump, too. He missed the edge of the mattress and hit the rough carpet with a muffled thud. With one hand still locked in his hair all he could do was topple slightly to the side with his elbow breaking the fall, the resounding sound echoing in the small room. 

Narrowed, sleep crusted eyes turned to Scott, his hand finally disengaging from his head. “I hope you’re happy with yourself, McCall,” he grumbled. 

The most sheepish of grins crawled onto Scott’s face and the lad stumbled back, quickly yanking a t-shirt over the leotard he had on. “We have class,” was all he said, struggling to get his shoes tied while shoving his ballet shoes into his duffel. 

“Yes, I realized,” Stiles stated bluntly. 

Once the gravity of their situation hit him, though, he was springing around faster than Scott. Of course, he had to start his day with a couple colourful words that he unleashed as he tripped over everything in his haste to prepare himself. He had barely enough time to throw his tard on (that’s short for leotard, something he’d had to remind his dad often) and some sweats before Scott was literally pulling him out of the dorm. 

It was reassuring to see that they were not the only two running behind. In front of them, in the dorm just a few doors down, a slim boy with a head of light gold curls was flinging his door open, an open bag bouncing off his back and toast in his mouth as he darted out before the two best friends. 

“See Scott,” Stiles pointed, the smugness already creeping into his tone. “We’re not the only ones that are going to end up doing grand pliés all class.” 

Scott huffed at his side, choosing to ignore that comment so early in the morning and setting out at a slightly slower pace than the other male they had just seen. 

 

 

Turns out that they weren’t late for class. They hadn’t exactly been ahead of schedule, but they had made it there with five minutes to spare, coming in on a class of freshmen warming up and doing their stretches. 

A lot of the students were mirroring looks on their faces that Stiles could feel churning in his stomach. Fear, nausea and excitement. Maybe it was because they were told to bring their pointe shoes today. He wondered how many of these guys had actually thoroughly broken in theirs considering it wasn’t really common for males to do pointe. However, he couldn’t help but notice a pack in the corner, hogging the bars, that seemed like they weren’t feeling any of this. In fact, their confidence was slightly deterring if only because it bordered arrogance. Their vibe wasn’t good, and Stiles prided himself on being able to decipher vibes. These were definitely not vibes he wanted surrounding him. 

A muscular boy with spiked hair was sliding lazily out of first and second position on the bar, ducking into fifth (who the hell skipped fourth?) as he regarded his friends with an impassive look. The guy that was seemingly doing all the speaking was much tanner than his comrade, but still the same in build. And that was to say they both looked like they could sit on Stiles and break his face. Not that… He wanted their asses in his face. 

“Dude, quit staring,” Scott hissed under his breath, obviously forcing himself to not fall in step behind his friend. He pressed his closed fist against Stiles’ lower back and urged him to move on, finding a spot where the other duffels were and tossing his bag down. 

With eyes still roaming around, only occasionally falling to the people back in the corner, Stiles tugged out his shoes and shrugged out of his layers till he was only in his tard. It took a little too long for him to put on his shoes, lacing them up and tying them expertly around his ankles like he always did, though this time with trembling fingers. 

He had just finished doing some minor bends in his feet to get comfortable, adding in a couple stretches so he wasn’t too stiff when the class began, when the door opened. He was expecting to meet the teacher, after all, how bad would it be if the instructor came in late, but instead he was met with… 

Well, there were no words entirely to describe it since his brain decided to fart and deflate. 

In the middle of his releved plié he was met with the sight of a Greek god walking – no, scratch that – gliding into the room. Loose sweat pants hung low off his hips, a black tard adorning the top half of his body that cut off in short sleeves at the high of his very full biceps. The low, v-cut neckline showed enough collarbone and dark chest hair for Stiles to feel like he was still pre-pubescent and about to spring one, if you know what he means. 

“Dude, is that…” Stiles’ voice choked off midsentence. 

Scott glanced over at him with equally large eyes, stunned into silence as he nodded stiffly. 

“That’s fucking Derek Hale.”

Nowhere on Stiles’ schedule had it said that he had Ballet 5 at 8:00AM with the prodigal Derek Hale, prima ballerina who had just come off tour with the most prestigious dance company in the country. It hadn’t said anywhere that the guy he had strung on his walls and laminated and that littered his Youtube and internet history was going to be teaching him or even visiting his classroom. When had it been decided that the prodigal son of dance was even going to grace the premises of the Academy, let alone in the freshmen class?!

Maybe there was a god after all. If there was and He had sent them Derek Hale then he needed to start praying and going to church more often. 

“Get up and line up for barres,” was the first thing Derek Hale – cheese and rice on crackers, Derek Hale – said, skipping introductions and explanations altogether. Though, to be fair, did he really need an introduction? “I want everyone to move through positions first through fifth until I say to stop and – ” 

“What happened to Margaret Jensen?” 

It was out before Stiles could stop it. He was the only one standing still in the center of the room, everyone either in the process of moving or already positioned at the barres where they were to begin the standard warm up for all ballet classes. 

All eyes were at attention on him and he felt suddenly very exposed in his tard. In an attempt to try and cover himself he tugged at the bottom hem of where the tard cut off on his thigh. 

The hardest stare, rather he should have said glare, though, was coming from Derek Hale himself. All Stiles could think was ‘Great, he’d pissed off the best dancer currently known to the world’. 

Thick brows furrowed to the center of his face and his lips pursed into a frown, a small crease forming at the corner of his mouth. “And if you have any questions I would prefer it if you could refrain from asking any of them,” Derek finished. One of his eyebrows rose, his head dipping down just far enough for him to  
pierce him with a look so judgemental he was sure every muscle in his body shrivelled up and died and his dance career ended right there. 

Without so much as another word Stiles lined up in formation behind Scott who had at least saved him a spot at the barre. Everyone was already sliding into fourth position and he had to wait till they hit first before he could fall into step with them. 

The testosterone in the room was at an all time high. Don’t get him wrong, Stiles had gone through years and years of training with men, getting sweaty in a room, showering together afterwards, but today everything was off kilter.

Derek’s presence in the room was a shadow that hung over all their heads. Even the guys he’d seen at the beginning of class with their egos radiating far enough to touch Stiles’ own seemed to know when to zip it and dance. Not that it stopped the lighter haired one to mutter in annoyance under his breath as they lined up to do more warm ups across the room. 

“One, two, three, stay on the beat!” Derek chanted, slamming his hands together as a piece of music guided their pirouettes. “Spot! Don’t ever lose your spot! I don’t want to deal with injuries. Hurry it up! You!” Derek’s finger shot out, pointing to someone as a group of four boys did their fifth repetition of a five spin pirouette. “Do you have a problem keeping on time?” 

Stiles finished his pirouette, turning around to see one of the boys he’d spotted earlier that morning stopped in his movements, hands balled into fists at his sides as they seemingly had a battle of glares. 

“No, but I assume you are going to point out that I do?” 

He could practically feel everyone flinch in the room. 

“What is your name?” came Derek’s calm response. 

“Jackson, Jackson Whittemore.” The boy, Jackson, stuck his nose a little higher in the air, straightening his back and squaring off his shoulders. Even at that, though, the difference in size wasn’t all that great. Perhaps Jackson was a little taller, but what Derek lacked in size he certainly made up for in presence. 

“Well, Jackson, your ankles are weak, your technique is sloppy and if you keep losing your spot and break your neck on the bar I have every intention of leaving you there. Get back in line and go again.” 

He slammed his hand back down on the stereo, starting the music from the beginning again. Stiles went back into line, going with the flow of things and watching as Derek drilled Jackson and forced him to go four times in a row. He could practically feel the anger emanating from the male. When he was finally let off the hook he returned to his friend, Danny he overheard his name being, and crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of defiance. 

“Fucking prick, thinks he can be the boss just because he’s some fucking legend,” Stiles heard Jackson say. 

“Relax, he’s just trying to make you better,” Danny whispered as the line before Scott and Stiles went to do their leaping arabesque combos. 

“Well he can go fuck himself.” 

“Hey, shut up, that’s Derek Hale,” Stiles quipped before realizing what he was saying. He shot a glare over his shoulder, almost backing down when Jackson’s jaw clenched and he was hit with a look that literally could kill. “You should feel honoured that he’s even teaching this class,” he finished, albeit, a little weaker than his opening. 

“And you’re lucky I don’t beat your face in right now.” 

The stab at him was enough to make Stiles miss a beat. Before he could step back on track Scott and the curly haired guy that had come in extremely late (so much for getting a head start) were off leaping through the air and pointing their toes like obedient ballerinas. Like he should be doing. Again he was missing all grace points when he stumbled off trying to find the beat. 

He barely made it across the floor when Derek cut the music. 

Steam was coming out of his nose. 

“What was that?” he asked, his voice scarily flat. 

“Uh, I’m sorry, I mean, I was just, I guess I spaced out and I promise it won’t happen again. I mean even the best people space out sometimes, right? I bet you did once, in one of your practices some time or something, right? Actually I think that’d be pretty funny to see.”

“Be quiet.” 

Stiles shut up. 

“One moment, that’s all you need. One moment for you to lose focus and that’s all it takes for you to slip, break your ankle, pull a hamstring, lose focus and fall off the stage, breaking either your neck or back and that’s it. That’s how fast your career can end. Do you think Vaslav Nijinsky ever lost focus during a practice? What about Anna Pavlova or Maria Camargo? Because I can sure as hell assure you that none of them would have gotten to where they are now if they had just lost focus and tried to apologize for it afterwards. Get back in line and go again. Go!” Derek flicked his hand, turning away with a sneer so he could turn the music on again. This time it was a different song, more fast paced, with the violins going crazy. 

Stiles felt a lurch in his stomach and had to swallow past the lump in his throat as he went back into formation, going through the motions and making sure to get everything right that he could think of. On his toes, tummy tucked in, shoulders up but not too far, keep focus on his spot and turn, leg up. 

He stumbled. 

“Again!” 

And that’s how it played out. 

His first ever lesson at the Academy and he was ridiculed in front of the class by no less than the man he’s idolized since the age of thirteen and all he wanted to do was go dunk his body in a bath of ice and then wrap his toes because he was sure they were bleeding. 

Finally the clock hit eleven and he was free to go. 

“Before everyone leaves,” Derek called out to the boys, stopping everyone in their tracks where they were bee-lining for their duffels. “Margaret can no longer teach as she is touring Asia in the newest line of productions that I would explain more about but you should already know about. I will be filling in with her for the rest of the year and if I find any of you are lacking focus, giving me attitude or showing up late to my classes you will pay for it. As for how, that is yet to be determined. I’d like to see Stilinski, Whittemore and Lahey, the rest of you are dismissed.” 

Scott gave him a look and Stiles side, shrugging and shaking his head. 

“Catch you back at the dorm? We can order Chinese or something?” Scott suggested, tucking his shoes into his bag and standing up straight. 

Stiles forced a smile, tugging his hair through his hair. “I can’t eat take out man, what do you think that’s going to do to my rocking bod? It’s all going to go straight to my thighs and I can’t handle that!”

“You idiot,” Scott snorted, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “See you tonight for Chinese? Seven?”

“Make it eight, I think I might throw in some extra practice time before calling it a day.”

“Alright, well text me if anything changes.”

He watched as his partner in crime left the room with the others, tossing one look over his shoulder to him in sympathy before disappearing entirely. 

Stiles himself was fretting about everything that he could have done wrong in the past three hours. Well, of course there was that whole thing where he’d been shouted at in the middle of the lesson. Now that he thought of it, Derek had picked on everyone, but he was stuck in the room with the three people that had been specifically singled out. This could not bode well. 

“Stilinski! Are you going to join us?” 

Stiles’ eyes darted up to Derek, one hand still lingering on his sweat pants where it had been since he’d lost focus. Flushing from his neck to his ears he pushed up into a standing position and trudged off to the small line that the two others had formed, making sure to keep a good posture so he wasn’t ragged on for that as  
well. 

Derek was posted with his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring grimly over his nose at the three students. 

The only person who didn’t seemed phased by this was Jackson. But Stiles, even in the short time that he’d known him, suspected that was because there was a stick lodged far up his ass. The guy had an ego that had no limits. At least, that’s what he’d gathered from their conversation. 

“I gather you are all wondering why I have held you back,” Derek tested, those classic eyebrows coming up like Stiles had seem them do so many times during interviews. 

“Not really,” Jackson scoffed. 

The face Derek made was not a pleasant one. 

“Out of the twenty individuals in this classroom, you three have stood out to me the most.”

Stiles almost wanted to punch Jackson’s smug face, if only because it was inspiring a flutter of hope in his stomach like maybe he had been picked on because Derek thought he had potential. Maybe he was choosing this moment to tell them that he would be giving them all private lessons so they could improve and become part of the company and dance on stage together and do pas de deux together – 

“By stood out I mean that you have failed to meet the standards set for this class. This is not Ballet 1 anymore, you are not here to be babied in your technique and do sloppy turns free willy.”

Stiles laughed, unable to keep himself from doing so. Derek had said “willy” how was he not supposed to laugh at that?

“Did I say something amusing Stilinski?” 

Again with that tone. Suddenly his tard felt too tight and not in the way he would have liked it to be. 

“N-no… Uh, no sir, I just, I mean…” 

“No? Then why are you laughing? The last I checked someone with ankles as weak as yours shouldn’t be smiling. The way you were moving into your releves, it was almost painful to watch. Great dancers don’t have weak ankles,” Derek barked. 

Part of Stiles broke off and split into tiny dust particles that landed in the bottoms of his battered pointe shoes. The only ones in this whole room that looked used, might he add. He once more swallowed past a growing lump in his throat and jut out his chin a little, if only to remind himself to keep strong. 

Derek didn’t even pay him any more attention than that. He rounded on the curly haired guy, fixing him with a strong glare that made the male literally quiver in the too large sweater he had hastily thrown on.  
“And you, already you were awarded a strike for coming in late and then your performance afterwards was less than impressive. Did your past teachers even teach you how to spot or were your pirouettes that bad naturally?” At the sound of Jackson snorting in amusement Derek whipped around. It surprised Stiles that he didn’t get whiplash from the sheer speed. “And you, with an attitude like yours you’d be lucky to even get into any company. Just because your daddy owns half the companies doesn’t mean you’ll be getting a free pass from me. You’re not the only one with his number on speed dial and I’m sure he’ll love to hear how his son’s formation is sloppy, lazy and all in all a mockery of what ballet is meant to represent.” 

As harsh as it was, Stiles kind of liked how Derek had managed to put the cocky son of a bitch into his place. Until his own reprimands echoed back into his head and he remembered that they were all standing on the same base. 

“Next class we have like this, none of you will be going on pointe. I want you three to start form the basics. You’ll be doing everything from stages two to three until your technique improves.” He paused. “And your attitudes. You’re dismissed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As aforementioned, I have changed the school from Julliard to the School of American Ballet because I know more about it and follow it religiously. Again, I'm not familiar with all the terms so all ballet dancers out there please feel free to tell me what certain spins and jumps and techniques are called so I don't make that big of a fool out of myself. 
> 
> This is the song I was listening to as I wrote about Stiles' solo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bs2VL_HYG9Y

Stiles had sulked through the rest of his classes that day, hating everything. 

After he had been so kindly dismissed by Derek he had thrown a quick text at Scott, telling him briefly that everything was alright, he just got lectured on his weak ankles again, throwing a little ‘:P’ at the end to make it seem like he really was okay with it all. But in reality he was still beating himself over the whole thing. 

After having been dismissed, Derek hadn’t even given him so much of a second glance. That just added salt to his wounds. 

He’d idolized the guy for years. He’d watched every show online and whenever he’d come to town with the company he was touring with he’d save up all his money (or grovel at his dad’s feet) so that he could go live and in person. He’d never raised up enough money to see him in one of the better seats but he had seem him nonetheless, even if he was a little big bigger than a large ant. 

And all that had been crushed in five minutes. 

Sorta. He still had an undeniable man crush on the guy. But his ego was a little bruised. His confidence was bruised after that tongue lashing. Why was he even teaching at the Academy? The last he’d heard Derek was meant to be going on tour… 

He didn’t have weak ankles… 

Well, he did but only Scott was allowed to make fun of them. His old teachers had all said that he had gotten better over the years; that he had strengthened them. They had all told him that his pointe was on point. He had gotten accepted into the freaking School of American Ballet, that must have meant that he was good at something because if he wasn’t able to do what he did and fabulously then the Academy wouldn’t have given him a second look. The fact that he could even manage pointe and manage it properly as a man was saying something.

“I don’t have weak ankles,” he grumbled, glaring down at the notes he had been jotting down throughout the lecture. First day of classes and he was already bored, scratching at the back of his neck with his pen. 

He was just ticking down the minutes till he could get out of here. ADHD coupled with the never ending desire to dance always made him on edge and needing to move around. His attention today, especially after the brutal dance practice, wasn’t doing much good for him either. 

Sighing, Stiles kicked back in his seat, crossing his arms and staring out the window. 

When time finally came for his class to be over he had just the time to grab a quick bite to eat before his evening started. It was three o’clock and that meant he could get a good… Five hours of dance in if he didn’t collapse first. His toes were still a bit sore from that morning but as all his teachers said over and over again throughout the years they had to push through the pain. 

Scott wasn’t in the dorm when he went to grab his things. Probably for the better, he didn’t want to begin his interrogation until later on that night. 

S.A.B had many dance studios and one of them was always open even if you didn’t reserve them. From his general knowledge during orientation from one of the seniors, people were allowed to walk in and out of them at will and negotiated amongst themselves if they really needed to use it. 

So it wasn’t a surprise to find one that was empty. He clicked open the door, sliding in and shutting it behind him. His duffel fell to his feet by the door, holding the change of clothes he had in there just in case, water, protein bars and of course, his ballet shoes. 

All rooms came equipped with the essentials, just like his duffel: mirrors, bars, and a sound system. 

Plugging in his iPod, Stiles began the usual playlist, stretching and shedding clothes simultaneously. His t-shirt flopped down in a pile, his shorts coming off soon afterwards. No, his leotard was not glued to his skin. It was just required that dancers have multiple tards because they always got sweaty because dance practice happened all the time. 

All the breath left Stiles in a flourish as he rocked his head from side to side, neck cracking. 

There was one song that he was always able to dance to and the second he came on he knew that it was his cue to start dancing. He missed the first couple beats but it didn’t take long after that for him to fall into pace. It was something he had choreographed himself after his mom had died. Throughout the years he had fine tuned it, adding in more difficult spins and jumps, a few contortions if he was feeling adventurous. But it stayed the same most of the time. 

It always had the same feel, reverberating in his bones. He didn’t go en pointe, knowing that he should be practicing since it was a requirement for his courses, but it was more comfortable for him to do this dance for him without them. Plus, he’d only needed his pointe shoes in a performance once and that was for Cinderella and he and Scott had been cast as the ugly step sisters. He had practiced offhandedly since then, wanting to be a well rounded dancer, but the last month had given him enough pain for him to be happy in his own shoes.

Needless to say, though, it had been strictly requested that their first class they bring their pointe shoes and their teachers had always strictly told them to keep their pointe shoes in their bags with their ballet slippers at all times. No one had really ever taken it seriously, but Stiles had and he’d dragged Scott into it as well. The people in their Beacon Hills class were now all sulking since they hadn’t gotten into the Academy and all he could do was laugh. 

That just went to show how good it was to experiment in the female and male roles. Maybe he hadn’t practiced enough, though if Derek thought he wasn’t meant for it. 

Even when they’d switched half way through the class and been told to put their regular shoes on he still had gotten beaten up. 

Pointe wasn’t easy! And he gave all the credit to the ladies who were able to do it every time they had dance class. Stiles was just happy he didn’t have to do pointe more than once a week. 

But it was all about the experience. A true dancer was able to master their field entirely. And that’s what Stiles wanted to do. Stigmas or not. 

Maybe that’s why Jackson had been so moody that day. Not all men were comfortable in point after all… 

He wasn’t even sure all men were told to train in them. It was a relatively new development in the dance world of today. But then again, Stiles had never been one to really stick inside of the box. 

The song lulled to an end on a sad note, the cellos dying out with the last wail of the violins while the piano dinged a few, high pitched notes that mewled out soft sounds of sorrow. 

Stiles always ended his performances with a full swing of pirouettes as far up as his toes could reach with him still in control and then hitting into an allongé at the end before diving down into an improper jazz splits and curling in on himself. 

When he’d tried to explain to his dad without actually showing him and using all the terminology it hadn’t really come across well. His father, to put it kindly,   
had been lost entirely and Stiles had had to give him a quick run through which was received with a nod and an elongated “Riiight, I see,” that hadn’t been too   
convincing. 

He never blamed his father though. Dance had been his mom’s domain, and while he was always supportive, driving him to all his classes till he got a Jeep and showing up to all his recitals, he had never been able to pick up on the terminology. He just didn’t get how deeply and emotionally invested Stiles was in all of this. His mom had danced – unprofessionally, but it was still her passion – and she had passed the bug on to him. 

Sometimes he just wondered if that was what made his dad so disinterested or unwilling to learn, though. 

With all these thoughts in his mind he didn’t realize how much time had passed. He only stopped moving after his fourth or fifth run of the same choreo (scattered between multiple others and a crap ton of free style) when the blister in his toe popped and one of his split nails from having been on his pointe shoes since the past month started bleeding again. He didn’t feel like investing money in a new pair of shoes and having to break them in just because he had bled through them. 

“Ugh, I hurt all over,” he groaned to the ceiling, knowing full well that no one was there to indulge in his pain. 

Sighing he shuffled over on his butt till he was at his bag, pulling out his phone from one of the side pockets. 

“Shit,” he hissed when he realized that it was already ten past eight. And he had four unanswered texts from Scott. 

Sprinting to his feet, Scott began pattering buttons into the phone, holding it up to his ear when he had successfully dialled Scott’s number. With his free hand he was tugging off his shoes, tossing things into his bag carelessly and tugging on his shirt with a grunt. 

“Stiles, where the hell are you?!” 

“Hi, hello to you too. Look, I know I’m late for our take out date but I’m on my way, I promise. I just… Got caught up in the studio,” Stiles apologized frantically,   
already throwing the strap of his duffel over his head and pushing the door open. 

The lights in the hallway were dimmed, but he wasn’t the last to leave. He didn’t have time to pry into the windows, though, practically sprint-limping down the corridor. 

“Well, hurry up faster. I ordered your favourites thinking we could celebrate and now it’s probably going to be cold and mushy,” Scott whined. 

“Bro, I’m not two hours late, I’m only five minutes late, I’m pretty sure you forgot to order and the food isn’t even there yet so quit with the guilt trip,” Stiles huffed, panting as he shoved at the door leading out of the building. 

He had almost made a break for the fresh air when he rammed his shoulder into someone. 

“Oof!” he gasped, dropping both his phone and his duffel flying around the other side of his back. He felt the strap dig into his neck painfully and yelped dramatically loud. “I am so sorry, I didn’t see you – I didn’t think someone else was on the other side, I should have checked. Damn it Stiles, doors have two sides!” he   
shouted at himself, slamming a palm to his forehead. On the ground where he had left his phone he could hear Scott shouting his name repeatedly, worry stinging   
his voice that he could hear even without it being pressed to his ear. 

He had just squatted to pick it up when he chanced a look at the person he’d assaulted. His eyes glued to his shoes, rising up the legs until he was peering up at the one person who had the ability to ruin his day or make it, depending on the words he spoke to him. 

“Oh, Derek Hale! I-I mean, Mr. Hale, uh… I’m so sorry for running into you,” Stiles rambled, eyes widening as he stood up. He felt queasy all of a sudden, especially when he saw the red mark on the man’s arm, knowing the roundness had come from his shoulder. “I’m really, really sorry?” he tried again when he was met with silence. 

Derek just gave him that stare, one he’d seen one too many times in documentaries, interviews and other various things he’d watched with him in it. 

Stiles was about to go on a banter about some various topic when Derek rose a hand, his eyebrows following the rise. His jaw clicked shut with an audible snap, his lip quivering only slightly as an after shock. 

“Stilinski, is it?” he asked, as if he could have forgotten in the short span since that morning. But hey, he remembered his name and Stiles wasn’t going to complain about that. 

“Yes, yes Stilinski, that’s me. Stiles Stilinski!” He flashed a nervous smile that faded quickly when it was returned with the same stoicism. You know, for all the times he had spent smiling at his posters, it was definitely not the same when he came face to face with Derek. 

“Your name is not ‘Stiles’ in your transcripts,” Derek stated. 

“Ah, well, that you see, yes, Stiles is a nickname; kind of short for Stilinski because my first name really isn’t all that pronounceable –”

“Stilinski.” 

“Yes, Mr. Hale sir?” 

“Do you ever stop speaking?” 

The red flushed up his skin again, making the tips of his ears burn in shame. Of course he really should have just known that the other would prefer silence over constant banter. Of course, Stiles wasn’t accustomed to that and everyone around him had typically adopted to his chattery self but this was Derek Hale and if Derek didn’t want him to talk then he wasn’t going to talk. Nuh uh, no way, nope. 

“Uh, only sometimes when I’m asked by the best ballerinas in the world or my dad when he’s had a long day at the office and can’t handle me on top of it. Or in class, I had this chemistry teacher once in high school and he really just didn’t like it when I spoke so I kind of tried to keep it on a down low, but it never really works…” Derek’s other eyebrow rose. “Right… Talking to a minimum.” 

He glanced at his phone, realizing he still hadn’t told Scott that he was okay. Mentally freaking out a bit he pressed the mobile to his ear, wincing at Scott’s trill tones. “Bro? Yeah, bro I’m fine, just ran into someone,” he apologized, already taking a hesitant step away from Derek. He was going backwards, listening to Scott go   
on and on about how he could barely even go get the take out at the door because he’d been so worried. He mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to Derek, making sure to be grand in his mouth motions so he knew exactly what he was trying to convey to him. 

After that he didn’t have time to see how the man reacted, feeling the full throttle of his embarrassment settling in his roots. Oh, he wouldn’t ever hear the end of this from Scott. It was bad enough that the other constantly found it necessary to point out his obsession with him. Having Derek Hale as his instructor was now proving to be a blessing and a curse. 

 

 

At the dorm, Scott was visibly flustered. There were a few cartons of Chinese take out spread out on the coffee table that make shifted as their kitchen table for the time being. It wasn’t exactly the grand suite in their living area after all. They had two single beds pressed to opposite sides of the room, a tiny night table hugging the free side and a lamp on top of both. 

Scott had already cluttered his with a couple books, some pens and the menu for the Chinese food place just three blocks down. Stiles was still devoid of anything except for a small notebook he wrote constant ideas in. It ranged from thoughts he had about the history of the male circumcision, what his mother’s favourite colour had been and how Derek Hale managed to fit all that into a leotard. 

Yeah, so he didn’t have the steadiest of thought patterns. 

“What took you so long?” Scott sighed dramatically, practically shoving his containers at him. 

“I’m sorry man, but the studio is just way too nice to leave. Have you been there yet, I swear to you, they have mirrors on all four walls,” Stiles said, tearing open the container of fried noodles and tearing into it. 

This didn’t happen every night of course. Being dancers they were meant to stick to strict diets, but every new school year Scott and him indulged in their favourite foods, either pizza or some other form of takeout. His dad would always delight in those nights, knowing that it meant he didn’t have to eat another salad. 

“This is so good,” Stiles groaned, throwing his head back. 

“I know right,” Scott agreed. His words came out muffled thanks to the half eggroll filling his mouth but after this many years of friendship, Stiles had no trouble deciphering his words. 

“So what took you so long to get here? And what happened man? You totally freaked me out when you just cut the phone on me,” Scott said, swallowing the rest of his eggroll. 

He could feel that familiar heat in his face and for a moment he hid behind his noodles, not wanting to dive into all the dirty details right away. Unfortunately, Scott had never been really patient and when he was beginning to take too long, he prodded him again for an answer. 

“I uh… I bumped into someone,” he muttered. 

“Who?” 

Prodding at his food with his chopsticks, he sighed, leaning back against his bed. “Derek Hale.” 

It was almost worth it to see the way Scott’s eyes bulged out of his head. Stiles, for a second, feared that the bit of eggroll he’d taken a new bite of was going to lodge in his throat but with a few quick coughs Scott managed to clear his airways to gape some more at his friend. 

“Seriously? Like, in real life Derek Hale?” he asked. 

Stiles nodded, suddenly finding the noodles in his container the most interesting thing in the world. He shrugged after a while, knowing full well that Scott hadn’t looked away from him. He only spoke up with an extremely unattractive and muffled “Idunno,” when Scott followed up with a “Well?”, clearly impatient to know   
all the gnitty gritty. 

“Well, nothing. I mean, I bumped into his shoulder, dropped you and started talking about I don’t even remember what and he didn’t say anything. You know, he seems much chattier in all those shows we’ve watched him in. Do you remember that documentary we watched? Remember, when the company came out with that one video update and he had this giant smile on and he wouldn’t stop talking with that Chris Argent guy.” He motioned with his chopsticks, clacking them together as if that would pull the memory out of Scott’s brain any faster. 

“Oh, Argent is such a dream boat. Do you see the way he jumps? The air he gets is unbelievable.” Scott groaned, tossing back a piece of pineapple chicken as he did so. 

“Whoa, reign in your homo there.” 

A wrapped fortune cookie hit Stiles on the side of his face, clunking down onto the empty table space in front of him with a dulled crinkling sound. “Coming from the guy that I caught making out with a poster of Derek Hale,” Scott snorted. 

“Hey! That was one time, like, two million years ago! And I wasn’t making out with him, I was just standing really, really close to the poster!”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” 

“It is what I say.” 

They fell off the subject just like that, teasing each other back and forth about certain things from their childhood they had caught each other doing. It was safe to say that Scott had an undying respect for everyone in the company, past, present and future and Stiles as well. However, his obsession with Chris Argent was always something Stiles liked to focus on. Admittedly, Scott’s love for the dancer was more out of dedicated respect for his technique and flawless artistry. Stiles’ love for Derek Hale extended to sessions in the shower where he had more than once pictured those tensing muscles and that sculptured face hovering over him. 

Not that he’d ever admit that to Scott. Sometimes, though, he felt like Scott knew. They always joked about the seriousness of their idol crushes but… No, he was just ridiculous. Pining after someone as unattainable as Derek Hale was only going to get him crushed, which he supposed that’s why they called them crushes. 

Whatever the case, innocently checking out the man during classes (which basically meant every day), and fantasizing about him in the privacy of his bathroom wasn’t going to hurt him. Not as long as he kept focused on his main goal and that was gaining an apprenticeship with the company and working his way up the ranks until he was just like Derek: a principle dancer that all the critiques would rave about and younger generations would aspire to be.


	3. Chapter 3

A month had passed at the Academy. Stiles was used to dancing till blisters on his feet popped and muscles in his legs (amongst many other places in his body) cramped but this was something new entirely. The amount of ice baths and massages he’d received in the past week alone was enough to show that this wasn’t Beacon Hills anymore. 

A few times he had Skyped with his dad, complaining about all the new places where he ached. At one point, it was pushing midnight but he’d had so much to recount about his sessions, his father had interrupted him mid-speech. 

“You know you can come home any time you want, son. No one’s forcing you to do this,” his dad had said. 

It had stunned Stiles into silence. His mind whirled around the thought for all of ten seconds, chewing on his lower lip and brows furrowing. His gut twisted just at the idea of leaving the Academy and the world of dance. 

“But I love it,” he’d replied simply. 

He did, he really did. The pain, the agony, the blood and bruises and aches were all worth it for the few minutes of pride that swelled when he nailed a new technique. When Derek gave his affirmative nod of approval when he landed a jump; when Scott gave him the thumbs up every time he spotted him during his turns – it was all worth it. He knew his dad probably couldn’t understand it from where he was standing on the outside, but all of the hard work paid off. 

It all paid off when he got to go on stage, even if it was for a role as minor as the ugly step sister or one of the mice in The Nutcracker. 

His dad had just nodded though and grunted out something that Stiles hadn’t been able to pick on. 

They’d called it a night shortly afterwards, not wanting to drag on any more than they should especially when Stiles had Pas de Deux class the morning afterward. Plus, it was surprising he even managed to stay up to such a late hour with the brutal practice Derek had forced them through that morning. With a paper due at the end of the week, too. 

Yeah, it was hard. But it was also the Academy, and Stiles had known that it wouldn’t be easy even before he’d auditioned. 

 

 

Pas de Deux was fun, despite being challenging. Back in the old studio he and Scott had practiced at they had done a bit of work with partnering but they had really only touched on the basics. At the level they were at now it wasn’t really like they were meant to be entirely skilled at it. It was only C3 after all, but it was important to get it down pact so that they could fine tune everything in C4. 

If he was going to wear that black leotard in class then he had to show that he deserved it. 

That was difficult, though when his partner was the living banshee from hell. At the beginning of class he would always have to watch her tug that mane of curly red hair into a tight bun that looked glued to her head. She had grown particularly fond of Jackson and despite her being a regular beauty Stiles wasn’t attracted to her gender (something he wasn’t prepared to announce to anyone but Scott yet) and her attitude was just so… So… 

“Um, hello Stiles? I don’t know what you think you’re doing but if you aren’t warming up and preparing to not drop me then what are you doing?” 

Obnoxious. 

Holding back a sigh Stiles turned away from where he had been getting ready with Scott at the bar, fixing Lydia Martin with his kindest of smiles. 

Don’t crack, Stilinski, he reminded himself. People get partnered with people they don’t like all the time in the company but they had to suck it up and dance because their careers were more important than the gossip that filled in some of the cracks. 

“Lydia! What do I owe this great pleasure of seeing your face?” he asked her, completely ignoring her earlier comment. 

“You better not drop me,” was all she said. With a roll of her eyes and an indignant huff she turned back with arms crossed over her chest, joining Danny and Jackson where they were cracking up about one thing or another. He was beginning to loathe their faces. 

Personal issues aside, he was actually liking partnering. It was a challenge he was determined to master and he practiced the motions on his own as much as possible. It was never the same when they came back together to practice the choreographies they were given but that was part of the fun. 

Scott seemed to be enjoying himself as well. Stiles atoned that more to the fact that he had been partnered with Allison Argent and upon learning that she was the Chris Argent’s daughter. Lucky little shit. She was every bit as graceful as her father, showing technique that could only come with learning from the best. Who knows, she might have been genetically predisposed to ballet. Whatever it was, Scott and Allison were constantly praised for being able to hit all the lifts before everyone and being able to fine tune them faster than the others. 

It didn’t bode well with Lydia. 

She enjoyed the praise and attention and worked strenuously at getting it. One day she’d decided that they needed the extra practice and had forced him to stay behind in the studio for an hour and a half until he was able to lift her the way they had learned in class, getting that all with the pirouettes to boot. She was exhausting. 

Thankfully the teacher for their Pas de Deux was different than their usual class. Stiles wasn’t sure he was able to handle the man every day. It was bad enough having him four days on five. Pas de Deux was a well deserved break from the everything that Derek Hale was. 

It was still all surreal to have him as his teacher. 

“Mr. Stilinski, please keep your attention on Ms. Martin. You are there to make the audience see that she is the prettiest woman on the planet. The woman in partnering is everything. And one, two, three, lift her up with grace! That’s it Mr. McCall. Ms. Argent your extension! Four, five, six!”

Mrs. Silver’s trill voice pierced through the music. Even with sweat dribbling down his temples Stiles tried to listen to her critiques, wanting to be as perfect as he could be. 

She clapped her hands to the beat, her rings tapping together every now and then and conjuring a tinging noise. He lifted Lydia again, leading her down as she dipped into a soutenu, keeping his hands firmly on her waist to keep her steady as she came back up. Her arm seemed to cut through the air but maintain the lightness of a feather. He fixated his focus on the way her body felt. His only desire was to make her the show piece, as Mrs. Silver had demanded of all the men. As Lydia stepped off with a few bourré he leapt up in synchronization with the other males. 

“Mr. Whittemore, follow the beat! You are one count behind!” 

Once the song ended they started again. Not before being given a list of corrections to take into account as they ran through it again. And that’s how the four torturous hours of Pas de Deux went every week. Sometimes twice a week since Fridays were often split up into half technical and half partnering. It all depended really. 

Today seemed to be the day though that he failed. There were always ups and downs in dance but it was the great dancers that new how to manage that and turn their bad days into something spectacular anyway. That was not the case for Stiles. 

Mrs. Silver was on his case the entire practice. If she wasn’t picking on Jackson or praising freaking Scott and Allison she was rounding on him and chastising him – loudly – for failing Lydia. His jumps weren’t high enough, his legs not straight enough, his back always slouching in her eyes. He wasn’t giving her enough support, he wasn’t helping her with her pirouettes, he was in her way as she tried to do her pas de bourré. It took all Stiles had left in him to not snap right then and there. 

With one big breath he tried to do that one tricky jump again, leaping up and landing hard on his feet. Just by the way Mrs. Silver’s claps stops he knew he had disappointed yet again. 

“Mr. Stilinski, Mr. Stilinski! This is not what I want! Not what I want at all! You have to be graceful but not take away the spotlight from Ms. Martin right now. You did not just steal her spotlight, with that you knocked it down and broke it! No, no! Try again!’ She sighed dramatically and threw her arm to the side as she swept herself to the stereo. 

Panting from the exertion, Stiles hunched over with his hands on his waist. Here they went again. A quick glance to the clock told him that he only had… An hour left of the torture before he could call it quits. Not that he would. The second this was over he’d be heading to the rehearsal studio so he could practice that god damn jump. 

Mrs. Silver wasn’t any less tough on him as the class dragged on. By the end everyone was mad at him. And by everyone he meant Lydia and their instructor. She wouldn’t even look at him twice as she packed up to leave. With Jackson waiting for her at the door she was more preoccupied with untying her shoes. 

The last thing she said to him was, “Next time I hope you fall on your face and break something so I can change partners.” 

“Do not forget to practice. Practice, practice, practice!” Mrs. Silver called at their backs as they filed out of the room. 

Scott was all smiles as he walked beside Stiles, rambling on about how great Allison’s form was. On a normal day Stiles would join in and add his own two cents, maybe even mock Scott for being so love struck by someone who seemed to have their relationship filed away as a platonic partnership. Today he was definitely not in the mood. 

Cutting off his friend midsentence, Stiles said, “Sorry bro, but I think I’m going to go grab a protein shake and salad and then hit the studio. Is that cool?” 

He was given an odd glance, Scott’s smile dwindling down to a small frown but he nodded nevertheless. “Uh, sure bro, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles assured.

“I know Mrs. Silver was hard on you man, but you know it’s all going to help us. We came here just for that. We’re here for better or for worse.” 

At this Stiles snorted. “We’re not married to dance.” 

“In a way we are.” 

“Shut up and go… Touch yourself,” Stiles laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll catch you later. I’m not sure when I’m going to be back.”

He didn’t stay around long enough for Scott to guilt trip him into cutting his practice short. However, he did catch him calling to his back for him to not stay out too late. He would try, but there were no promises. 

His usual dance studio was empty. Stiles didn’t even bother changing out of his tard. He headed to the cafeteria to buy a salad that he picked at on his way to the room. He was barely four bites in before he set it down, choosing to plug in his iPod. 

The song Mrs. Silver had chosen was put on repeat so that he could practice from beginning to end. He was going to nail that jump so that the next time they had Pas de Deux he wasn’t the only one being picked on. And he wasn’t going to get injured as an easy cop out to partnering. 

This was his career, so he was going to work at it till he could perfect everything. 

Without bothering to do some stretches (after a full course of dancing, why would he need to re-stretch?) he dove right in. The music built up to the climax near the end where his jump was. Time after time he did it. If he felt like what he was doing was subpar he rewound the music and started again.

The sun had set long ago when the door swung open. Stiles barely noticed, too focused on getting that jump. His hamstring was cramping up and there was a pain in his foot that would take hours of ice and massaging to get it to get back some sense of normality. 

“You keep going at it like that and you’re going to injure yourself.” 

The sudden voice startled Stiles just as he took off to head into the jump again. His spin let go mid-air and when he landed it was on one foot at an ankle,   
toppling him over. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, feeling the pain of the bruise that was definitely going to settle in. He swore, if that was anything more than sprained he was going to… 

“See?” 

Eyes narrowed, Stiles glanced up to see who was the cause of this. All words flit off his tongue as ungracefully as his landing when he came face to face with no other than Derek Hale. Of course. 

“What do you want?” Stiles asked through a groan, massaging his foot with the palms of his hands. His heel was throbbing but his ankle seemed okay and for   
him that was fine. It wasn’t sprained, just over worked… He could live like that. 

“I came here to practice. I reserved this studio for eight o’clock and it’s precisely… Eight thirty right now. I waited patiently wondering if you had even looked at the schedule. I should have known that you wouldn’t have looked.” 

“Contrary to your belief, yes I did look at the schedule. I guess I just lost track of time,” Stiles grumbled. He kept his gaze down as he massaged his foot, wincing slightly when his fingers pushed at a tender spot. 

There was a huff from Derek at the door as he tossed his bag down. Soon enough the music was turned off and the room was bathed in a silence. There was a bit of scuffling and Stiles waited with bated breath to see what the dancer would do letting it all out when the man simply stood in front of him. 

“Are you injured?” Derek questioned. 

Begrudgingly, Stiles shook his head. “No.” 

“Then can you get up? I have to practice.” 

“What do you have to practice? I haven’t seen you in any of the company’s productions. You’re stuck here teaching us freshmen, as much as you hate us.” There was a bite to his words and by the way Derek’s calves tensed up he knew he had maybe overstepped his boundaries of teacher to student relationships. The second the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back. He had just insulted his favourite dancer. Wow. Way to go Stiles. 

“My life with the company is none of your business and I’ll have you know that it was I who asked for a job with the school and I don’t especially enjoy being critiqued by a boy whose ankles are so weak they could snap just from walking. Kindly clear the room and I’ll see you in class.” 

Stiles’ jaw dropped. He felt a piece of his life from the past few years shift. So much for idols, he thought bitterly, limping up into a standing position. He threw a glance to Derek, only catching the stoic look that was tossed back at him and shook his head. He threw his shirt on over his head and a pair of sweat pant, shucking   
off his shoes while he tried to keep the pressure off his heel. 

“Bye,” he drawled out sarcastically to Derek, unsurprised when he had no response. 

Derek Hale was definitely not the same as he was in the interviews. 

In his rush to leave he didn’t realize that his iPod was left behind by the stereo, right next to Derek’s.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time! I hadn't really had the inspiration to write but recently I've really wanted to write but all my original character novels and other stories were falling short and despite my craving to write I couldn't find the words for anything. And then I remembered this story and was like yes. So here's a rather long chapter... I'm going to keep writing but like I said before, please don't wait for regular updates! I'm horrible with that ;;
> 
> Um... not edited so I'm sorry for mistakes or inconsistencies. Also, ugh I need to work on my vocabulary I'm so stale I bore myself. Please enjoy!

The following weeks were torture. It felt like all there was to Stiles’ life was dance. He woke up he ate an ever so healthy bowl of oatmeal with some fresh fruit, sometimes a glass of orange juice. He packed his bag, checked his equipment and depending on the day it was either straight to the theory classes they needed to pass or straight to the studio for whatever class they had that day.  
The days he had to go to the classroom were the worst. Those days were split four hours each. They had three to four hours of classes ranging from history to English or math – amongst other topics – and then four hours of dance. The day never finished there either. After that it was either an hour or so of pilates or more dancing or studying or all of the above. And at the end of the day it was a big shower and a snack before hitting the bed.

Scott seemed to be handling the stress of it all better. But then again, he was always the one that managed to keep his mood mellow. Stiles was always all over the place.

They were having pre-examinations for pas-de-deux at the end of the week and he wasn’t nearly ready for them. Unlike Scott, whose blasé attitude was really starting to bug him in his time of stress, he was unable to connect with his partner. How could he when Lydia Martin was a tirade to the entire ballet community? Her and that Jackson guy made his pas-de-deux classes unbearable.

Every time they entered into the room they would station themselves at opposite ends of the bars but that wouldn’t keep them from throwing shade through the mirrors. Scott was entirely oblivious to either. His attention was captured every second by the fabulous Allison whose grace and composed nature was admired and envied by the other girls in the class. Stiles had to admit, though, she was the perfect partner. Not only was she talented but she had her form en pointe. Ba da chhhhh.

Okay maybe he was losing it just a bit.

“Stiles, you ready?” Scott called, heading past him in the room with his hair coiffed and his tard showing from underneath his sweats and sweater.

“Am I ready? Are you ready would be the better question. I’ve been sitting here forever imagining what pancakes with extra syrup would taste like while you style yourself for your pretty little Allison.” The sarcasm weighted down Stiles’ words heavily but he doled that to the fact that Scott had spent a half hour of their precious cafeteria time in the bathroom drowning himself in cologne and hair gel. He was going to end up a sweaty mess by the end of today anyway, so what was the use of trying to look pretty in the morning if they were going to sweat off a layer of skin by the time nine o’clock hit.

“You’re being dramatic again. Maybe I should cut you off from caffeine again?” Scott suggested, whipping a dirty sock at him.

Stiles managed to dodge it by a millimeter only to chuck it back at him. “I’m not being dramatic, I’m being real. You’re going to sweat like a mad man all over Allison, dabbing on some perfume isn’t going to make you smell better when you drip your nastiness all over her during pas-de-deux.”

“I am not going to drip all over her and it’s not perfume it’s cologne. Now get up. We only have twenty minutes until breakfast is over.”

“No thanks to you,” Stiles muttered.

Nevertheless, he grabbed his duffel by the strap, tossing it over his head and around his neck. The roughness of the material scratched at his neck, rubbing at the tender spot that had embedded itself into his skin since he’d started at this school. The stress of the Academy was making him break out, he swore he had eczema or hives or something. One had only to lift his shirt to notice the blotches of red that got itchier as the day wore on.

Thankfully, the smell of food quickly distracted Stiles from scratching at that one problem spot. Unlike in his daydreams, he wasn’t greeted with the smell of pancakes and butter. It was more like hard boiled eggs that smelled like fart with a tint of cinnamon which everyone added to their oatmeal instead of brown sugar. God, being a dancer was hard.

Breakfast was quick, an egg wrap with a banana to go with a pit stop only to fill up their water bottles. Stiles was in the midst of taking a sip as he walked into the large studio, greeted by the quiet babble of chatter and scuffling shoes as people prepped themselves for the long day to come. Two and a half hours of pas-de-deux. Joy.

They barely had ten minutes to themselves before Mrs. Silver came gliding in. Her chin stuck up in the air, her hair pulled back into a bun as tight as her lips which were pursed in disdain as she observed them all.

There was a perfect rigidness to her as she made her way to the front of the classroom by the pianist who had spent their warm up time practicing scales to limber up his fingers.

“Good morning class. I hope you all got yourselves a good night’s sleep because today we are running through what will happen during your pre-examination. You will be judged on your technique, as well as your connection with your partner. Your pre-examinations are minor compared to the examinations that will be carried out at the end of your semester. At the pre-examinations you will be asked to perform a series of movements to demonstrate what you have learned during pas-de-deux. Unlike your final examinations where you will be all taught a choreography and asked to perform it before the members of the committee and myself.

Now, let’s start with a quick warm up and some stretching before we get right to it. Ladies on this side, gentlemen on that side. Find your bars and first position!” She clapped her hands, trying to restore the flow to the group as they found their places.

Stiles placed himself behind Scott, fixing his eyes on the muscles in his friend’s back while his ears remained concentrated on the words of the teacher.

Behind him he could hear the muffled conversation of Jackson and Danny and he hoped secretly that they would be scolded by Mrs. Silver if only for his own satisfaction. Unfortunately, that wasn’t to happen.  
Everyone got their own critiques after they switched from bar to floor, and finally the dreaded moment came where he had to face Lydia Martin. Had Stiles not already been sweating like a break from the intense warm up Mrs. Silver decked upon them all, he would have started sweating from the fact that he had to face that firecracker.

“Hello Stiles,” she greeted tersely as they found their windows and waited for instruction.

“Lydia,” he chirped back, adding his own flare to his greeting because he knew it would annoy her.

“I hope you’ve been practicing just as much as I have. I will not flunk these exams just because I have a weak partner.”

“Lydia, can you please be quiet for just two minutes? If I have to hear how unbearable I am as a partner we’re going to have to start a TV series about it.”

“Just don’t drop me.” Her face curled up in a sarcastic smile right on time for Mrs. Silver to start naming the first things they had to do.

To say it was difficult was an understatement. Every movement and position they were made to run through proved more and more to Stiles that he was not ready for the pre-examinations. Or rather, that he might be, but his constant doubts about his abilities held him back from believing that he could.

When class wrapped up he was chugging the last of his water with a small towel around his neck to dab up the sweat that ran out of his hairline and down the back of his neck. His energy, as well as his morale, was low. Mrs. Silver had not taken it easy on any of them and especially him. It was like she had chosen him as her target for the year. As much as she critiqued the other dancers, it was like he got the brunt of her hate.

“You good?” Scott asked, advancing with Allison glued to his hip.

“Is anyone good?” Allison chimed in, still winded from the last rounds they’d been through. “Today was rough. I can barely feel my toes and my hips feel dislocated. Stiles, please tell this guy that he shouldn’t be afraid to touch me because if he keeps supporting my waist the way he does I’ll end up broken before pre-examinations begin.”

At that, Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. He capped his bottle and tossed it back into his duffel, evaluating Scott with a playful glint to his eye. “I would tell him but I think Mrs. Silver yakked his ear off about it already. It must have been all the gel in his hair finally taking its toll, though. It probably managed to seep into his thick skull.” He reached over and pushed his fingers into his friend’s sweaty hair to make a point, coming out with sweat and clumps of gel which he grimaced at. “See?” he asked, holding his hand up to Allison while the other pawed for his towel.

“You’re just jealous of my luscious locks,” Scott retorted with an eye roll.

“Yeah, that’s it. Listen, I’m going to go to the studio to practice some more and see if my iPod is still there by some miracle… Are you going to be around later?”

“Bro, it’s been two weeks since you lost your iPod. Give up hope and buy a new one. Anyways, Allison and I are going to practice pas-de-deux together too. Why don’t we regroup for dinner? I promised Allison we could eat together today since she’s curious to know me outside of the studio.”

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you’re the one who invited me and not the other way around,” Allison interjected. She whacked Scott on the shoulder and shot Stiles a knowing look which he returned with as much sass before parting to shuck her shoes and get ready to travel to the next studio.

“She’s perfect.” Scott sighed once she was far enough away that they couldn’t be heard.

Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes and pat his friend on the shoulder. “You’re hopeless dude. I’ll catch you later, though. I’m going to practice and buy some more cream for this stupid rash thing I’ve got going on.”

“You need to relax man. Pretty soon you’ll end up looking like a tomato… And not a cute one.”

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled, smacking Scott upside the head for good measure in a form of salute before he parted ways with him.

Making a break for the door he passed Allison and waved at her. At his back he could hear Lydia shouting at him to clear time from his schedule so they could practice together before the exam which he lifted a hand to acknowledge that she had been heard and arrangements would be made.

He never thought he would appreciate the silence so much when he stepped out into the hallway. There were a few people lingering around, flitting from class to class though they weren’t in his level and if they were he barely recognized them. There wasn’t much time for socializing in the Academy.

The studios felt like they were forever away. Stiles attributed that to the fact that he was anxious to know if someone had robbed him of his iPod. He’d been suffering without his music and he didn’t have the courage yet to tell his dad that he had stupidly lost it. It was hard enough financially to support him going to this school, he didn’t feel like adding any extra burdens onto him.

He wasn’t ready to give up hope yet either. Every time he practiced he made sure to rent the same studio with some vain hope that maybe one day his iPod would turn up out of the blue. So far no such luck but hey, if there was anything he could hold on to it was that sliver of hope right? Especially since the last time he had seen it he had dissed his idol and brought the wrath of hell upon him in doing so.

Derek hadn’t been present for classes since he’d last seen him in the studio. And since their interaction the man hadn’t come back to his studio. He had practically become a shadow. Stiles wasn’t even sure he existed anymore and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had seen him in a studio teaching the C4’s then he would have remained convinced that he had driven Derek out of the country.

Like he was a big enough part of Derek’s life to drive him to such a drastic decision, though.

The studio was clean, empty and just the way Stiles liked it. In the absence of his iPod he was using his battered MP3 player which he plugged into the system, setting it to the music of Sleeping Beauty so he could do mild stretches and work on his solo. Well, his solo really was just a bunch of combinations of moves he strung together in a vague representation of what was meant to be a solo but he was unable to settle upon any final movements.

Especially during the climax of the song he had chosen. I’ll Be Damned by ALi played over and over again and at the same spot every time he stumbled through a series of movements, trying to find the right combination, the right jump. He was torn between ballet and contemporary, trying to find the right balance to it all so that it wouldn’t come off as sloppy.

Dropping down to a roll of his knees and coming back up to do a spin was too clumsy and all over the place. But a simple spin down to a split was too graceful. He tried dips, he tried pirouettes, he tried jumps and it was only in the last fifteen minutes of his reserved time that he thought he had found the proper combination. A spinning jump to land on his knees where he would slide onto his back, tuck his knees and arms in to burst out again. Like a blossoming flower. Or that was the image he had in his head as he did it. But there was still something slightly off with it. How could he get up off the floor without looking like a beached whale?

“It’s my time.”

The voice came out of nowhere, startling Stiles like it had the first time he’d heard it two weeks ago.

“Jesus Christ! Can you know or something?!” He had shouted upon reflex, not caring on the spot that it was Derek freaking Hale. Yeah, he would regret that severely later.

“Why should I knock? You reserved two hours and your two hours are over. Perhaps you should stop locking your knees and begging for injuries and go work on strengthening your ankles or something. Excuse me.” Derek walked past him without a second look, heading straight to the stereo where the last few seconds of ALi’s song dwindled out into the last of its piano notes.

Derek yanked the cord out of the MP3 player, setting the device to the side while he plugged his own, and the first song to come on being the opening song to Firebird.

“Well excuse me, I don’t exactly have a clock here… Hey – hey! Don’t touch that! That’s all I have left!” Stiles scrambled to catch up with the legendary dancer, grabbing the MP3 player before it could leave his sight. He was not going to make the same mistake again.

His actions were meant with the judgemental quirk of thick eyebrows pointed in his direction. The blank expression that followed beneath them didn’t do much for his self-confidence, but Derek didn’t comment.

He didn’t have to with that expression which left Stiles no choice but to defend himself.

“I lost my iPod, can’t lose this too,” he mumbled lamely. Yeah, he needed to leave before things got to be like the last time.

Stiles bent over his duffel, pulling out his sweater for when he got cold while walking to the dorm, pulling out his pants to go with it. He was about to start in on his shoes when Derek’s voice stopped him.

“You didn’t lose it,” was all the burly man said.

With wide eyes, Stiles looked up to face the hovering gaze of the other. “What? How would you know? Are you in my head? Or have you been stalking me? Or were you the one who stole it? Because if you are, I don’t care if you’re my favourite dance in the whole world, I will press charges!”

Derek’s expression read that he was anything but amused. He let Stiles finish his rant, one hand reaching into the side pocket of his duffel. “I know because the last time I encountered you, you left it behind. I was planning on giving it back to you but we didn’t end up meeting till now. Here.” He handed back his iPod, in the same condition he had left it in except this came with a side dish of bafflement that Stiles couldn’t digest.

“You had my iPod all along?” he asked, flitting his gaze from the screen to Derek and back again, trying to lock the connection between the two.

“Yes, I just explained to you why I had it.”

“And you didn’t bother… I don’t know, bringing it to the lost and found?”

“People often frequent the lost and found to take things that don’t belong to them. It wasn’t safe.”

“And you didn’t bother trying to come find me personally?” Stiles asked, waving a hand around as if this would have been the obvious solution.

“Because unlike what you seem to believe, I am not a person who is into stalking,” Derek answered briskly, narrowing his eyes while he sighed and turned away. “Whatever the case, I have returned it to you, now leave so I can practice please.”

Had Stiles been anyone but himself, he probably would have heeded the warning that lingered behind Derek’s words. But he wasn’t anyone else and he would be going against everything he believed in if he left the room without asking the question that he been perched on his tongue since he’d processed Derek’s presence in the room.

“Why weren’t you in class before? Aren’t you supposed to be teaching us? If I have to see Mrs. Silver teaching anything but pas-de-deux again I might go insane. No offense to her, but I feel like she’s trying to kill me.” He tried to lighten up the mood by laughing, leaning against the bar and arching his back to stretch out his tight muscles. He kept one eye peeled on Derek, who was pretending like he wasn’t in the room and getting ready for his practice while Stiles lingered.

Without missing a beat or looking at him Derek was quick to answer. “She’s not after you just for the fun of it. Everything she does is to help you improve and she rags on you because she favours you.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Silver is an experience woman. I had her even when I was in the Academy. If she picks on you more than the other students it’s because she sees the most potential in you. You can’t go far in this industry if people only compliment you.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I’m good?”

That comment got Derek to turn around. It was perfectly timed with him taking off his shirt too. As he spun around he pulled his shirt up from the hem, lifting it over his head to let it fall into his hands as he faced Stiles. The tard he wore was black and clung to his skin, showing off the deep ruts in his body that traced the muscles on his toned body. It was a different view than from his performances since he wasn’t bald all over his body. Thick tufts of dark, curly hair sprung out from various parts of his tard, teasing at what must have been trailing all over his body.

Stiles found his eyes glued to Derek, trailing from his toes to his thick thighs, up his abdomen and chest, stealing glances at his arms before finally settling on his face.

“So uh,” he cleared his throat, not giving Derek a chance to say what was clearly on his mind. “You’re saying I should be happy to be picked on?”

“Yes, but just because Mrs. Silver thinks you have potential, doesn’t mean I do, but you should appreciate her while you have her. She’s one of the best coaches you’ll find in the Academy,” Derek grumbled. There was a flicker of something in his eyes but he didn’t let Stiles stare at him long enough to decipher what it was. “Please leave now, I have to practice.”

“Fine, I’ll uh, yeah I’ll leave. I have to go anyway,” Stiles muttered hastily, yanking his shoes off his feet and quickly shoving his sneakers on with a wince at all the blisters he nicked in the process. “Uh, see ya in class, I hope?”

“Yes, probably, goodbye,” Derek answered in a clipped tone, rigidly squared up to Stiles while he walked off.

“Thanks for the iPod!” Stiles shouted last minute, smiling over his shoulder as he pushed open the door.

Derek nodded and Stiles figured that was the best he was going to get. He was nearly out of the studio when he heard the final few calls of the infamous dancer behind him. “Take your ankles when you practice. It’ll help support them while you train and minimize your risk of injuries,” Derek called.

Stiles looked over his shoulder, tilting his head in confusion at the random bit of advice. But he smiled nonetheless, nodding to the man. “I’ll do that, thanks.” He offered him a half salute to show his appreciation and then finally left the studio for the night with an awful grin on his face that stuck all throughout dinner and until he closed his eyes to finish off his day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh! I wrote 2 chapters in one week! How proud of me are you? Haha. Well, the second chapter is nearly done, I just have to figure out a way to tie the ending. I know everything seems scattered and that's because I'm writing as I go along and really barely have any clue of what direction I"m going in. I mean, I know where my end is, I know what my climax is, but building up to the idea I have of my head for the dynamics between Derek and Stiles are difficult for me. I'm trying to not lose Scott either, too, but he tends to drop out. But! I will have more Scott in the next chapter and the chapters after that... Huhu.. I'm sorry the story is so scattered. Anyways, enjoy! Critiques are always welcomed since English is not my first language! 
> 
> Thank you!

Pre-examination day had finally come. Stiles had spent more than a few hours with Lydia in a studio, trying to perfect their technique and get some chemistry flowing. Unfortunately, an entire week of forcing themselves to dance together in the same room with minimal breaks wasn’t the most ideal way to get them closer together. Stiles had had it about up to there with Lydia’s prima donna attitude and if he had to hear her criticize his ankles one more time then he was going to flip. Flip!

At least he could say that the nonstop practice had done more than break his body. They had become pretty amateur experts in pas-de-deux thanks to the practicing. They were touching up on a few minute details in the hallway, waiting for their turn to be called in. After they all went individually they would all be called back in to perform as males and females respectively. He wasn’t in the same group as Scott but maybe that was for the better. Scott was really showing promise in his dancing skills and with all the anxiety Stiles was feeling he was worried that he would upstaged by his closest friend. Which was ridiculous, he knew that, but it was something he couldn’t shake off.

“Stiles focus! We need to get this down pact because I am not going to get anything lower than a perfect on this!” Lydia snapped her fingers in front of his face to try and get his attention back on her.

“Huh? Oh right, uh, what position are we doing again?”

“You’re hopeless. I’m going to fail and it’s all your fault.” She threw her hands up in the air and turned her back on him to stalk off in Jackson’s direction. The second he noticed her coming towards him he abandoned his own partner, letting her flop back to her own two feet to tug her closer by the waist.

Of course. Stiles couldn’t help but scoff. He would do this by himself then. He was trying his damned best to improve their partnership but it was hard to force chemistry when his partner seemed to think of herself as the queen of the world.

“God Stiles… What have you gotten yourself into?” he groaned, tilting his head back and shoving his fingers into his hair. He hadn’t bothered styling it, knowing that he would be destroying it anyway with his fingers like he was doing now.

He sighed and leaned his forehead against the wall, half doing the movements by himself in the vain hopes that it would help him improve.

It was going rather smoothly until that damned voice – the one that always seemed to interrupt him in his most serious moments of concentration – traveled to his ears.

“Shouldn’t you be rehearsing?” The gruffness of the voice matched the scratchy bearded look Derek had going for him. His voice almost sounded like he had just woken up and barely had time to down a cup of coffee.

Stiles begrudgingly looked up to see what it was that the older male could possibly want. He had shed the leotard from yesterday in exchange for a more serious black, V neck t-shirt and some dark denim washed pants. His hair was styled perfectly atop his head with the sideburns coming down to accentuate the chiseled lines of his jaw and sharp eyebrows.  
How was it even possible that he could look good in a tard and in normal wear too? Stiles had always thought Derek had been a god on stage with his costumes always sticking too close to his body and leaving nothing to the imagination, but having him in normal clothes in a normal environment seemed more surreal than seeing him play a prince on stage. The mystery of what he knew to lay beyond that t-shirt was more arousing than having it perfectly outlined in front of his eyes. Albeit, behind a computer or TV screen or from balcony seats in a theater but still.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Stiles asked, self-consciously darting his eyes down to his ankles where they were taped, having followed the directions Derek had given him during their last interaction.

“This is an examination for pas-de-deux, not solo. I do not see your partner around and you two are not practicing together. My question was valid,” Derek stated with little to no emotion in his voice.

It forced an eye roll from Stiles who really didn’t have the patience to deal with Derek this morning. Who could have guessed that his idol had turned out to be some pompous jerk who didn’t know how to communicate with people normally? Certainly not Stiles. In his head he had fabricated Derek’s image based on interviews where he’d been twinkly eyed and all smiles, stealing glances at his partner like she was the love of his life, despite almost always having a new one with every show he did.

“My partner is over there making out with her real partner,” Stiles ended up muttering, not up for an argument.

“Shouldn’t you go and tell her to come practice then?” Derek rose an eyebrow, thick arms crossing over his chest.

With that Stiles pushed off the wall, crossing his own arms as he failed to square up to Derek. There was a large difference in their sizes. Stiles lacked much of the muscle mass that Derek carried, but he had an advantage of height. Being only a couple inches shorter than Derek meant that he could at least pretend to sneer on his level. It was a mild confidence boost.

“Look, I’m sorry but I don’t feel like being told in fourteen different ways how much I’m letting down my partner again and I really am just trying to mellow out and focus on the few things I’m lacking in right now. You coming in here and ruining my focus while flaunting your stupid great body that anyone would be lucky to partner with and – and flashing your stupid talent around isn’t helping me get into the right mind set so you’ll forgive me for not wanting to march right over there and ask Lydia to practice with me again.” Stiles wasn’t exactly yelling but he wasn’t exactly being quiet either.

A couple eyes had turned towards him, probably judging him for snapping on a superior. Like they would be doing any better if they were in his position. They would all be going crazy if they were in his position.

They all had the perfect partners, the perfect bodies. Almost all the men here were already more muscular than him. And none of them were being picked on for having weak ankles.

It didn’t seem like Derek was too impressed with his outburst either. His expression remained passive as he let Stiles finish off with his tantrum.

“Are you finished?” he asked him.

Stiles huffed but shrugged, turning away to do some stretches like it could help him take his mind off his nerves.

“Come here,” Derek huffed, grabbing onto wrist. “If you’re going to practice on your own then at least let me help you. You shouldn’t let a horrible partner hold you back from achieving your best. It’s something you’ll have to learn if you want to get into a company, especially the New York one.”

Stiles barely had time to protest. Words were barely managing to form through the connections between his brain and mouth when he realized Derek was pulling him around the corner away from the other pairs waiting to pass their turn.

“Wait – hey – Derek! What are you doing? I could be called in at any second!” he hissed, yanking his arm away from the dancer.

“You’re the thirty fifth pair to pass and they’re only at number five. You have at least forty minutes before your turn passes and that’s if the panel doesn’t stop to comment on everyone in between,” Derek grumbled, finding them an empty classroom just around the corner.

“Shouldn’t you be on that panel?” Stiles whined, taking a seat on one of the desk tops while he watched Derek shove away some desks to make them more space.

“I am a temporary teacher so I cannot be on the pre-examination panel. The only time my status in the company is valued in student judging is final examinations for the students trying to get into the company or during school arranged competitions.”

“Oh, so you’re too big to grade some students?” Stiles mocked.

“If you’re going to keep this attitude up I can let you go in there and bomb your exam.” Derek abandoned his quest for making more space in the room, most likely deeming that there wasn’t going to be much more space than this in the first place. After all, he had pushed all the desks back until they were pressed up against each other. There wasn’t much he could do after that unless he started throwing things out the window but somehow Stiles believed that even someone as legendary as Derek wouldn’t be allowed to get away with something like that.

Stiles had no option to cave. He didn’t want to fail and let’s face it… He was in an empty classroom with Derek standing in front of him. And he was being stared at as if he was expected to do something incredible.

“Fine,” he caved, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine, let’s just do this. I can guarantee you that even though I may have time before I pass, Lydia will only give me fifteen minutes. Twenty tops, and that’s if we’re lucky. So let’s go.”

Derek nodded and motioned for Stiles to come closer, like a professional. “Alright, we’ll start with a regular plié, up into first and continue into…” Derek rambled off a list of the positions he would have to do in his pas-de-deux. In one of the trickier ones that Stiles had difficulties with Derek pulled out of dancer mode and switched into teacher mode.

He rounded around Stiles, gently tapping the underside of his arm to get it higher. “You need to support her arm here and keep this hand around her waist. She’ll use your body as support as she spins. Don’t rush her. Stop that, you’re rushing,” Derek chastised, tapping the arm that would be supporting his partner if he was with one.

“I’m not rushing!” Stiles retorted, flustered at their close proximity.

“You are, you’re rushing and if your partner were here right now she’d have fallen over.”

“No she wouldn’t, you’re just making that up!”

“Do you want me to help you or not? Here, here, come here and I’ll show you what you’re doing,” Derek growled yanking Stiles forward.

“What are you doing?" Stiles squeaked, his face flushing red as he was yanked towards Derek’s chest. “I’m supposed to be doing the male part, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to show you what you’re doing but I need you to act as the female part so that I can demonstrate it properly,” Derek huffed, trying to get Stiles to cooperate by force, though it wasn’t working too well.

He resisted only to a certain point, finally giving in to Derek when the man snapped at him and told him to just stay put. They ended up face to face, hazel eyes glaring into green ones. Stiles could feel a twitch in his eyebrow, a sure sign that he was either horny or annoyed. The latter was the more obvious choice but the more he stared into Derek’s eyes the less convinced he became.

The elder male had his forearms grasped in both his hands, holding tightly enough so that if Stiles struggled he would need more than a simple tug to get away. The tension between them was so thick that if either one of them tried to cut through it the knife would surely break.

Stiles counted in his head, wondering how long they would stand there without saying anything. Which one would back down first? He couldn’t help but wonder. Derek was a proud man, he could gather that much from his interviews. On the other hand, he didn’t want to lose… But if he shamed Derek any more than he had since starting the academy then what would that dub him?

He’d be the one guy everyone would look at in class and in the halls. He’d be the biggest disgrace to ever hit the Academy.

“Fine, okay, you win, twirl me like a princess, I don’t care!” Stiles caved at last. With one yank he got Derek’s grip off him and tried to remember how Lydia would place herself. She had her arm up, with her hand in his, en pointe… That wasn’t going to happen with him, though. He raised himself up onto tip toe and lifted his arm up, sucking in his stomach, keeping his shoulders down but his back straight and chin up as he waited for Derek to assume his position. “I’m waiting,” he sang, rolling his eyes.

He could hear Derek clear his throat behind him and then finally he had those thick fingers in his own, keeping him steady while a hairy arm wound around his waist, supporting him like he would Lydia.

“Okay now spin and I’ll show you what you’re doing,” Derek instructed.

Stiles did just that, spinning like a ballerina and grimacing at Derek’s actions. They felt rushed and unnatural and by the time he finished one spin he was already wobbling. He was determined to keep upright, trying to suck his stomach in extra tight. He even flexed his butt to try and keep himself from toppling over but just like Derek had told him he ended up putting down his other foot to support himself instead of dipping forward and pushing it back with his arms extended at either side like he was supposed to have done.

“See?” Derek murmured, coaxing him back up into the beginning position. “Now try that again but notice what I’m doing. I’m not rushing it. I’m gently easing her around but giving her just enough push that she doesn’t fall over in the middle. You need to balance your weight with hers and let her spin,” he murmured, his breath washing over the back of Stiles’ neck as he spun. The light touches and close proximity seemed to absorb some of Stiles’ tension. The more immersed in the dance he was the less he thought about the examination that they were practicing for. It was like Derek sucked out his tension like a leech would suck out his blood.

There was a difference. He could feel it in the way Derek supported him. Just the tiniest of shift and the slight pull back of pressure as he edged him along into the turn. When they came face to face for a couple seconds halfway through the turn they were both smiling. Both because this was ridiculous, two men doing pas-de-deux together and both because they were proud of the completed turn.

When he was nearly full circle Derek started speaking again. The spin had only lasted a few seconds but the man didn’t seem to be done teaching yet. “Now when she goes down, you really need to hold on to her.

You’re her new center of gravity. Let her extend her leg and bring her chest forward. Yeah, exactly like that.” Stiles could hear the smile in Derek’s voice as they moved together flawlessly, as if they had been dancing for years already. “There, just like that. Support, but let her do her thing too,” Derek murmured, keeping his hands firmly around his waist.

Stiles smiled, laughing in turn as Derek helped him back to his feet and into another spin. “Okay, I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve done pas-de-deux with a boy. And Scott doesn’t count because we barely knew what we were doing when we practiced it together,” Stiles commented, a chuckle in his tone as Derek let him pull away.

It looked like Derek wanted to say something else, but the door flew open before the words could make it out.

Standing in the door frame was a very livid looking Lydia. Her red hair seemed to be steaming as she embodied the look of an erupting volcano. There was a no nonsense expression on her face that forewarned Stiles to how much shit he was in.

“Oh hey Lydia,” he greeted with little enthusiasm.

“Stiles! What are you doing here? We’re up in five minutes and I’ve been searching everywhere for you! God, can’t I rely on you for anything? Come on, we have to at least practice part of it before going in front of the panel!” she shouted, storming in with her shoes thudding against the ground. She wrapped her slim fingers around his wrist and pulled him along after him without even so much as a look in Derek’s direction.

Only Stiles managed to catch Derek’s eye as he stumbled after his partner. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed to him, smiling slightly and offering him an apologetic shrug as he turned around the door frame and lost sight of the Academy’s prized alumni.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep! Two regular, weekly updates in a row? Damn, I don't know how I did it... I'm going to work hard on the next chapter so please don't be too disappointed in me if I can't get the next chapter out on time! Thanks for your comprehension and enjoy the chapter! Critiques are always welcome! Thanks for the support everyone!

“Dude! Wake up!” Stiles shouted, ripping Scott’s blankets off of his bed. It was Saturday and though classes didn’t take place on Saturday it was personal study or practice time. This particular Saturday was more special than the others, though. The results for the pre-examinations were coming out that morning and Stiles wanted to know what his bloody grade was.

The extra practice with Derek had helped him in some aspects, but he knew he had messed up in others. Pas-de-deux had gone smoothly enough. Lydia hadn’t wasted her breath given him empty critiques after they had passed so that was good. But the separated groups had made him fumble a bit. He constantly had issues with landing his jumps and his pirouettes were sloppy. Sloppy enough to make him worried about what the final outcome of his grade would be.

For some reason Scott didn’t seem to be as worried. Allison and Scott had performed great. They had a few faux-pas but for the most part, they had nothing to be concerned about. He seemed more concerned with his beauty sleep than his grades.

“Scott! Please, let’s goooo! You said you’d come with me to check the grades. Don’t make me go alone!” Stiles whined, trying to pull Scott’s pillow out from underneath his head.

His pleads fell on deaf ears. His friend was glued to the bed. On weekend days that boy didn’t get up until eleven minimum and then he disappeared for the day. It frustrated Stiles to know that Scott could slack off so much and still emerge as top of the class when he had to work his ass off just to keep off Mrs. Silver’s hit list. As much as he tried to remember what Derek had said about Mrs. Silver’s ways he still couldn’t stop himself from taking it to heart.

“Stiles,” Scott groaned, swatting the hand that was shaking him away. “Stiles, just go without me. I’m too sore from yesterday’s practice to even move today.” He turned his back to Stiles, grabbing at whatever was left of his bed arrangement to try and find another comfortable position.

It didn’t seem like Stiles – who was already dressed, showered and sporting a tard under his regular clothes in preparation for more dancing later on in the afternoon. A group of people had invited him to come practice with them that morning and then after he took a break to finish some homework he had plans to head back to the same studio from every other day to work on his own.

Scott probably had his own plans, too. Stiles stared down at his friend with a frown, wondering how it had happened that since entering this school they had grown more and more apart. All of Scott’s time was divided between dance, school work and Allison. Had Allison not been in the picture then her time would have been Stiles’ time. Not that she wasn’t lovely. That was the worst part. She was an absolute saint and the fact that Stiles was jealous rather than happy for her and Scott finding each other was what pissed him off the most.

He just wanted bro time. He missed icing his feet in buckets of cold water while yelling at Scott about current events and playing video games. They used to practice together all the time.  
Staring down at his best friend’s sleeping form only reminded him of how lonely he was getting at the school. Surrounded by people but still unable to find someone that could truly understand him. There was no one but dance.

“See you later,” he muttered, shaking his head and walking out of the room.

At least he would be able to dance today. There was only an essay that was separating him from group practice and personal practice. Maybe inspiration would hit him for his choreography when he got to be on his own.

Group practice was challenging but fun. Stiles finally got the chance to dance with someone other than Lydia during the pas-de-deux and he had to say it was refreshing to not have so much pressure to not mess up.

But good times had to come to an end. He grabbed a protein shake from the stand by the studio building and sipped on it on his way back to the dorm. Part of Stiles had been hoping that Scott would be there so that he could gush to him about how great the group had been.

He wasn’t there, though. Most likely out with Allison, he thought bitterly. At least he had the shower to himself. Stiles muffled a sigh and pulled off his clothes piece by piece, tossing them into the hamper. By the time he reached his undergarments he had goosebumps all over his arms from the dried sweat that had crusted over his body. He had started the shower water before his strip down so by the time he entered the bathroom he shared with Scott the mirrors were steamed up. The sound of running water hitting the shower floor penetrated Stiles’ ears and he smiled at the blast of warmth he received.

Oh this was going to feel good.

The heat coaxed the pain out of his limbs, if only temporarily. The water rushed over his head, flattening the locks to his forehead and sliding down the muscles in his back. Droplets fell down the crevice in his back that curved off to his round bottom and slid down the backs of his thighs. With the soap Stiles brought his hands up his chest. His fingers slid over the lines of his abs and over the V that dipped under his navel and into the fuzz of pubic hair above his member. Soap clouded into the coarse hairs as he lathered it up into his skin. Foamy trails lined his chest, catching some of the dribbles of water that defied the steady stream of water coming from the shower head and merging together or falling completely down the drain.

Stiles soaped up his hair and his body, only ducking underneath the rain when he was sufficiently lathered.

The shower was nice and long and did Stiles’ weary muscles good. Though it probably wasn’t the wisest idea to shower before going to another practice session. It was better to be clean now and take another shower later than to go into the library sweaty and looking like a pig. He probably wouldn’t have been the only one but this shower had been more about cleansing his body of sweat and fatigue and his mind of worries than anything else.

Part of Stiles hoped that Scott would be there when he stepped out of the bathroom. Alone or with Allison – he didn’t care. So long as his buddy was there. He would even sacrifice his personal practice to spend some time with him.

But when Stiles stepped into his room there was nothing but the duffel he had left on his bed and silence. “So much for that idea,” he muttered to himself, busying his mind with what he could wear that could be quick to take off but still comfortable enough to put him through a whole study session. Sweats seemed to be the best option, with a tank top that he covered with a zip up hoody.

Yup, this was the life…

 

The completion of his essay had been the easiest part of Stiles’ day. Besides lunch. Lunch had been pretty easy. And delicious but meals were the constant glory to his days, so they didn’t count when he measured out the value of his time.

Ever since he entered the studio to practice it was like all his creative functions had shut down. Stiles spent the first half hour sitting on the ground and “stretching” to give himself an excuse for being in here if anyone did by chance stall by his window. His one playlist played over and over again as he tried to figure out how he could tie up his choreography but all he came up with was the same boring material that every other choreographer would toss away as a basic idea. He attoned that to the fact that he was still distraught over his grades from the pre-examinations. Pas-de-deux had been good enough for him. He’d gotten into the top twenty percent. On his own he was just under average, which pissed him off. After all the hours of training he’d invested it just wasn’t fair.

It was frustrating. He tried searching up some videos for inspiration but found that when he tried to incorporate it, it seemed a little askew. The pieces of his puzzle weren’t fitting together the way he had envisioned.

After wasting a portion of his time he had decided that the best way to stir up his creative juices and get his creativity flowing was to start dancing. He played with some movements, doing some freestyle of things that he had been taught so that he could practice and nail them in his next classes. And then finally, an hour in, he touched in on his solo.

It confounded him how easy it had been to come up with an audition piece. Of course he’d had the week of anxiety where he had wondered if it was even possible to choreograph something on his own. They had been allowed outside help from teachers and others but unlike Scott or the people that had shared his more advanced dance classes he hadn’t wanted to accept the help. In his mind he needed to do this on his own to prove to himself and others that he was worthy of entering the academy. Which meant that he had to do this solo on his own too because in the long run it would prove that he was worthy of entering the New York Dance Company. His dream company. The one he had dreamed about since he was a child that had never quite stood up to the other grand ballet companies in Russia, England or Australia, amongst many others.

Stiles’ frustration was getting the best of him, though.

He wasn’t spotting correctly which threw his spins off. When he landed his jumps he knew he had sloppy form that made it dangerous. But his mind was so boggled down by stress that he couldn’t bring himself to self-correct. He only began to take notice when after a particularly hard jump that sprung in his knees and down to his Achilles tendons and left an ache that didn’t subside after a few seconds like usual.

“Shit,” Stiles groaned, bending over at the waist and pressing the butt of his palms into either side of his knees and traveling his touch down to the heel of his left foot where the pain was really concentrated.

He grimaced at the tenderness and wondered if it would be a wise decision to try and keep dancing on it. To test it out he walked in circles, trying to force the limp out of his step though it wasn’t going over too well so far. It was on his fifth circle that Stiles determined he had pushed himself too far. He’d spent nearly three hours risking his entire career by poorly executing techniques that had been drilled into his foundation since he’d started his dance career.

“Smart, real fucking smart Stilinski,” he cursed himself, sighing and limping towards the sound system set up so he could lean against the shelf.

He let his head hang between his shoulders, his forehead propped on the stereo so he could catch his breath. What had he been thinking? Dance was his outlet for these times when he felt everything bagging him down. Just because he was ready to burst out into angry tears at any second it didn’t give him an excuse to slack on his technique. Now look at him. He had ignited an old injury and if he didn’t take it easy then he was going to wind up out of commission for the rest of his life.

The mere idea of losing his future in dance to something as silly as not checking his form on a jump made tears spring to Stiles’ eyes. A couple of them sidled down his cheeks and landed on the black shelf. He watched through blurry vision as they formed tiny puddles and he imagined himself drowning in them. Not forever, but just for a little bit so that he could forget everything that was happening around him.  
So that he could forget that Scott had forgotten about him. So that he could forget that his pas-de-deux partner hated him. So that he could forget that his instructor had it out for him. And so that he could forget that his idol Derek Hale wasn’t such a great person after all. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky guy he had seen in the interviews or during the behind the scenes footage. He wasn’t even the hero that he was on stage. There was nothing about Derek Hale in person that convinced Stiles that he was the prince that had saved Aurora from the evil witch that had put to sleep the entire village. He wasn’t Prince Charming saving Cinderella from a life of slavery. And he wasn’t the nutcracker coming to life and showing Clara a new side of the world while simultaneously saving the toys from a fate of succumbing to the rule of rats.  
Nothing about the Academy was what he had expected it to be in the end. Sure, he loved the structure and the curriculum… Actually, asides from a few details, most of his time here was exactly what he had dreamed of. Which is exactly why he didn’t understand why he was so sad about everything. God, now he was confused. He didn’t know what to think.

What he knew is that Derek was a dick and Scott had abandoned him and now he was injured.

Fuck this, Stiles thought, shaking his head.

Without any grace he rammed things back into his duffel, not even giving his things the courtesy of a closed zipper. He’d come to dance to better his mood only to be soured by his own failures. What a time to be alive. His iPod was tossed into the disorganized mess along with his earphones and once he hit the off button on the stereo he was out of there.

Even though the limp stalked him like all of his failures from the past, Stiles carried on with his chin high. The few people he walked by on his way out of the building gave him curious or pitying glances. They all knew how he felt probably. Especially if they were more experienced than him. No matter how young a person was, if they danced with the intention of making it into the company, if they invested all of their soul into their passion then they knew what it was like to be put out of commission. Dance could make you or break you. With the way Stiles was feeling now, he was feeling rather biased to the latter.

His stomach was growling but he didn’t feel like going down the trail of shame that would lead him to the cafeteria. All those stares would just add on to his anger.

Next Friday when he went to the physiotherapist he would tell Deaton about his ankle. His god damn Achilles tendon just didn’t want to let him live a peaceful life. He probably should have gone right away but he was too busy sulking to be logical about anything.

He pondered calling Scott to ask him for help back to the dorm. And he got rid of that thought as quickly as it had come. His dorm building was only a fifteen minute walk from here. If he was lucky he could get there in thirty.

His next step proved to not be the case. If Stiles wasn’t careful with the distribution of his weight he found himself freezing up on the spot from the pain that shot up his leg. Thankfully he was near the courtyard where the garden was elevated in a circle by a mini brick wall. He sucked in a breath as the pain throbbed in his tendon, leaning against the wall. The strap on his duffel slid off his shoulder and fell onto the ground. His body followed soon after. With a little hop he set his bottom down on the ledge and sighed, throwing his head into his hands and combing his fingers furiously through them.

“You fucked up Stiles, you fucked up…” he sighed with a shake of his head.

“What did you do?”

The voice startled him. It seemed Derek had a knack for scaring the living shit out of him. And popping out of the middle of nowhere. He was like the silent stalker that never went away.

“Nothing,” Stiles huffed. He grabbed his things with the intent to leave but his heel sparked again and he stumbled back onto his bottom with a curse.

He looked up in time to catch Derek’s eyebrow raising. Whether it was in judgement or in concern Stiles wasn’t quite sure how to analyze it.

“What did you do?” Derek repeated, this time in a stricter tone.

“It’s just a slight sprain, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“What did you do?”

“You’re annoying with this aren’t you?”

“An injury, even if minor, can be serious if not treated.”

“It’s an old injury. I’m going to see Deaton about it on Friday so you don’t have to worry yourself. It’s probably just a flare up and needs some ice and rest. I got all of Sunday to put myself back in tune with my chair and homework.” Stiles waved a hand to Derek as if to dismiss the problem. He didn’t want to keep going over this when he was already bummed out about it to begin with. But of course, if there was anything that Stiles had learned about this man was that he was as stubborn as he was and when he wanted something he got it.

The look on Derek’s face told Stiles that he wasn’t going to slip away with this like he could have with Scott – had his friend been around.

The tension between him and Derek was enough for him to fish out his phone. It bruised his ego quite a bit to have to submit but he rather have Scott escorting him than Derek. Even if he was angry at him for abandoning him on their dance journey (all for a girl no less) he rather have him joking with him and making him feel better than Derek who would make him want to bash his head in all the way back to his dorm. There was just something about Derek that made him feel so small. His stomach twisted up in knots and he felt like throwing up. The feeling of admiration had quickly simmered down into churning acid that made him want to faint and prompt the other into arguments so he could see how many variations he could make of the same face. Would the left eyebrow raise? Would the right one go up? Which nostril would flare more when he sighed heavily out of his nose? These were the things that Stiles liked to watch during their brief and ever exasperating conversations.

Before Stiles registered what was happening, Derek was kneeling in front of him. One hand slid around his shin to hold onto his calf and lifted it up so that he could rest it on his knee. The pressure on his tendon was too much, though, and he winced, pushing away Derek’s hand so he could balance his foot mid-air.

“Don’t…” Stiles groaned. Well, so much for faking it. At least he had gotten his text out to Scott. Now if only he would answer so that he could get the fuck out of here.

“Where does it hurt? Your heel?” Derek asked sternly, his tone clearly saying that he was done dancing around the subject.

“Yeah,” Stiles caved. “I think it might be my Achilles tendon again… I hurt it three years ago and I think I just irritated the injury today during practice.”

“You were practicing again?”

“I gotta if I want to keep my place here.”

“It’s a weekend, shouldn’t you be taking a day off?”

“A day off?” Stiles snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do those exist in a dancer’s vocabulary? Weren’t you the one saying in an interview that you danced up to eight hours a day, seven days a week? I’m pretty sure I also remembering you mentioning that a dancer’s only break came in their dreams while they were asleep and even that was fitful.” Stiles hadn’t meant for it to be a joke. It was an honest inquiry about what he’d heard Derek say. After all, he was beginning to learn that a lot of what he had believed about the other hadn’t turned out to be exactly one hundred percent legitimate.

To his surprise, though, Derek laughed. It was dry and nearly sarcastic but Stiles wasn’t imagining it. One eyebrow disappeared into his hair (which desperately needed a trim now that he thought about it).

“You’re still in school. You don’t have homework to balance on top of your dancing. I know the curriculum is biased to the physical side, but until you become a professional dancer, you take advantage of the days you have off,” Derek mumbled, gently pressing down lower and lower on his calf until he found the spot that made Stiles wince the most.

“If I don’t practice now, will I even have a professional career to look forward to?” Stiles retorted, finding that Derek’s logic was mildly flawed in this sense.

“Practicing non-stop now will only make you wish you hadn’t in the future. Come on, stand up, we have to go see the physio right now if you want to get this taken care of.”

“Do I have to?” Stiles whinged. He thought he could have put this off till Friday. Apparently he thought wrong. Doing things wrong had landed him in this position, though, so he needed to suck it up. This was his fault. “I need to send a text to someone first… He had to know where to meet me. If he even comes.” The last part was more of a mumble since Stiles didn’t really mean for Derek to pick up on it but it came out louder than what he had intended. The other didn’t make any commentary about it, though. To that he was grateful. Scott would have been all over him but Derek preferred silence it seemed.

“Hurry up,” was all the dancer said. “He has a lot of people coming in to see him today.”

“Oh yeah, and how would you know?” Stiles retorted sarcastically, sending his text out and tucking his phone back into his still unzipped bag.

“Because I just came from there. Do you think you’re the only one who has problems with their body? Geez, you’re in one of the most famous dance academies in America, you’d think you’d have caught on to that one. Come on.” Derek took Stiles by the arm to help him back on his feet. Stiles almost had the urge to fight him off but instead he sighed and held onto Derek’s arm so he would be able to apply less pressure on his foot.

In the waiting room Derek forced him to sit down on one of the chairs. He was clearly oblivious to the stares of the four people in the room with them. Unlike Stiles who shrank under their gazes. A few of them he recognized as older students (some that he’d seen in prior student production videos and from one of his trips down here before). One of the girls was from his class though he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him.

 

Derek was either ignoring them or really was just clueless to it all because he held that same blasé expression while towering over Stiles, arms crossed over his chest.

Then again, having celebrity status in the dance world might have made him invincible to their stares.

Nevertheless, Stiles couldn’t help himself from saying, “You know you can sit down right? You’re not a body guard. You can actually leave. Scott should be here any second to come help me back.”

In all seriousness, Stiles wasn’t even sure if Scott was coming. It’d been a good fifteen minutes since they’d left for the physio building and after checking his phone and seeing no new texts he was beginning to have his doubts. Apparently Scott didn’t have time for him anymore.

“Your friend isn’t here yet. I’m not going to leave you here until they show up,” was all Derek said. Point blank. Just like that.

“He’s on his way, so you might as well just leave.”

“What part of not leaving don’t you understand? For all I know you’re going to try and walk away from this and then I’ll find you collapsing somewhere and everyone who saw us walk together will blame me.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is. You don’t want to leave because if I do something stupid then it falls on you, right? Well I’m sorry for being so cumbersome. I didn’t know me being injured was going to tarnish your reputation but now that I do now I think I’m just going to up and get out of here –” He’d made to get out of his chair, pushing himself off of the chair arms only to be pushed in the chest by Derek.

He fell back into the chair with an ‘oomf’, blinking in surprise at the man as if he really couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“You’re not moving.”

“Well, aren’t you just one hunk of macho meat?” Stiles huffed, not putting up much of a fight otherwise.

It wasn’t like he had the opportunity to either. From one of the hallways that lead to the physiotherapy rooms (Stiles had been a couple times as was mandatory for all new students so they could be assessed on their physical health) came Deaton. He wasn’t a super tall man, but what he lacked in height he made up for in stature. Thick arms were barely concealed beneath the sleeves on his black shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showcasing more of that dark skin that complimented the dark hue of his eyes. There was a permanent twinkle in those orbs that the main paired off with a friendly smile and a look of wisdom. Scott and Stiles had once joked about Deaton’s baldness, saying it was that way because to have hair would block all the information he seemed to absorb every day because god damn, two minutes with that man could show anyone how much of a genius he was.

Before Deaton could say whatever it was he wanted to say, though, Derek was moving towards him. He stopped in front of the doctor and muttered some things too low for anyone not in the actual conversation to hear.

Stiles huffed in defiance, giving another fruitless look to his phone to see if he would be saved any time soon. There was yet to be an answer from Scott. How many times had Stiles dropped everything and run to help Scott whenever he’d had an asthma attack in his earlier years or when his knee cap had popped out? He could whip out an entire list of times he’d been there for Scott!

“Come on,” Derek interrupted his thoughts. He had his forearm grabbed in one hand and his duffel strap in the other, hoisting him out of his seat. “Deaton’s going to pass you before everyone.”

“And how did you manage that?” Stiles asked, though he really couldn’t complain. If it meant he would be able to pass more quickly…

“I told him it was an emergency.”

“Oh so you liedddd,” Stiles cooed.

“Shut up and just walk.”

They were escorted into a private examination room. It the same one that Stiles had been in before for his physical. Deaton made him sit on the parchment lined bed and asked him a series of questions while pressing down on various areas of his body. It felt like the doctor was literally doing everything in his power to avoid his Achilles heel. Even the questions he was asking were entirely irrelevant. Stiles was almost fed up of the whole thing, seeing as they hadn’t even gotten to the right leg, when Deaton finally touched upon it. Literally. As he was turning to grab his clipboard off the counter to presumably take notes on something while his elbow hit Stiles’ foot, soliciting a rather loud shout from the boy.

A string of colourful words spewed from Stiles and made every eyebrow in the room raise.

“Oh, so I see we finally located the center of pain,” Deaton noted with a smug grin. “About time, no? You could have saved me the trouble of examining your entire body had you just said something.”

All Stiles could do was breathe heavily through his nose, glaring at Derek with a fury he had reserved for Scott only on special occasions. Because just like Deaton there was a pompous look on Derek’s face that said they had planned this entire thing. Son of a bitch. The second he could think straight he was going to get back at him and wipe that dumb look off his face!

“Did you guys plan this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

If the chuckles were anything to go by, they did.

“Derek told me how you were stubborn. We figured this would be the best way to teach you a little lesson. Stiles, you can’t ignore an injury. No matter how small it is, you have to get it checked out. I had a student who fractured her back while practicing with her coach. Her coach pushed her too far and forced her to go beyond her limits. But the girl was stubborn, kept rubbing cream on it and ended up not only worsening the fracture from dancing on it for so long while it went untreated, but she also burned her skin with the icy hot cream. Do you want that to be you? She couldn’t dance for six months and then when she fell once during a performance her injury flared up and she lost mobility in her legs. She didn’t dance again for another year. That could have been avoided had she only treated herself in the early stages,” Deaton lectured. As he spoke he grabbed some instruments off the counter, placing them on the bed while his hands went at it more gently on his heel.

Stiles could only keep silent for once. He didn’t know how to answer that story because he knew Deaton was right.

“Derek told me a little about what you felt, but I think we both know he’s not big on words, so why don’t you explain to me what happened, eh?” Deaton asked, flashing a kind smile towards Stiles.

It caved the few stubborn barriers that the young adult had been keeping up unknowingly. He sighed, shooting a look to Derek, who was ever so silently balancing on a stool with his arms crossed. Like a brooding wife waiting for the diagnosis on her husband. Both unhappy from her husband’s stupidity but angry at her own concern for him.

The rendezvous with Deaton finished with a tensor bandage wrapped around his foot and crutches for the rest of the weak.

“You strained your Achilles heel, though I’m sure you had figured that much out on your own,” Deaton informed Stiles as they left the room, Derek leading the pack. “It’s more swollen and sensitive than normal tendonitis because you disturbed the prior injury you had. Your records tell me you’ve already been treated once for a minor tear and that you were meant to ease up on the dancing so that you didn’t wind up needing an operation. So I’m forbidding you to dance for the next two weeks and only when I’ve deemed you acceptable will you be able to continue lessons. You’ll have a written note from me to excuse you from whatever dancing courses you have this session.”

The news was like a blow to the chest for Stiles who didn’t know what a life without dancing was. He vaguely remembered it from the last time he’d fallen hard, but that felt like eons ago.

“You mean I can’t dance? Like at all? Like nothing, not even some flailing of the hands?” Stiles asked, unable to keep the distress out of his voice.

Unfortunately for him, Deaton answered him with a nod. “Yes, that is what I’m saying. We’ll see if you can get back on your feet again in two weeks.”

“I’m going to fall behind, though! I’ll miss a bunch of things! How am I supposed to get better if I can’t physically practice?” He was getting more and more irrational with each passing second after his diagnosis but these were logical questions to him. Stiles’ entire life revolved around dance. His dad had done everything he could to get him to this Academy and now Deaton was telling him that all of his dreams could come to an end just because of one faulty landing that was all his fault.

“Stiles, I’m not saying you’re out of commission forever. And you’ll be able to catch up, but you have to keep off it for a while at least… Otherwise you’ll just get worse and then you really won’t be able to dance,” Deaton advised in a soft tone.

Of course what the other was saying was true. The man was a professional and even at his worst Stiles knew that what he was saying was true. That didn’t make it suck any less, though.

“Yeah, I got you,” he muttered, sighing and shrugging to himself. “Thanks anyways, Deaton. See you in two weeks.”

With crutches in hand Stiles moved down the hallway, glaring at the tiles as he edged back to the waiting room. In all the chaos he had practically forgotten about Derek. That is until the man came up behind him and stopped one of his crutches with his hands. Already at his peak of frustration, Stiles couldn’t handle any more of the dancer’s snappy words. He didn’t care how much of an idol to him he had been or was.

“Look, can you stop grabbing me and my things? You did your job and saved your reputation, just give me my bag and I’ll get out of your way, alright?” he grumbled, reaching out a clumsy hand for the bag that Derek was still holding.

The burly man merely rose an eyebrow at him, like he was waiting for a toddler to finish his tantrum.

“I was going to give you your bag back, but if you insist on blowing this out of proportion then by all means, go for it,” Derek drawled sarcastically, the slightest of sneers on his face.

“Oh,” Stiles faltered, wishing he could take back the past minute instantly. “Well then uh, thanks. For bringing me here. I guess Scott was too busy to come.”

“Some friend,” Derek remarked.

“Yeah,” was all Stiles said. He didn’t feel like correcting Derek, or even sticking up for Scott anymore. He didn’t even want to check his phone for fear that what he would see would confirm his deepest worries. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sulk over being out of commission. And maybe watch a couple episodes of the TV shows he’d missed while stuffing his face with popcorn.

He just wanted to forget that this entire day had happened.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I finished chapter seven ahead of time and totally forgot but now because my dance show is coming up and I've been super busy at work I kind of fell behind with chapter eight! Oops... My friend and I are also cowriting a story together so that's taking up a lot of my time since I actually have deadlines. She's very efficient and rarely finds lack of inspiration while I always struggle to find a balance to my words. Oops... But anyways, if you guys are interested I'll certainly link to it! 
> 
> For now, enjoy the new part and tell me what you think! This chapter is more filler than anything...

Scott hadn’t come home all night. In fact it wasn’t until Sunday morning when Stiles heard the door edging open. At six am no less. Much earlier than yesterday when Stiles had tried to get Scott to come check the

grades with him.  
There were a couple faux-pas where Scott accidentally nudged some things on their shared desk. He tripped over his bag in the middle of the room and if he was at that point then Stiles knew for sure that Scott couldn’t miss the crutches propped up on the wall beside his bed.

It didn’t feel like Scott was going to wake him up to explain where he was, though, so he decided to take the first step.

“Where were you?” he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position.

It wasn’t like he’d been having a good sleep up to date anyway. The pain medication had worn off halfway through and being that he never was big on the whole pills thing he didn’t want to dose up every four hours like Deaton had advised.

His question shocked Scott to say the least. The boy nearly jumped out of his own skin, dropping his duffel on the ground and falling back onto his bed in a way that was too dramatic for the occasion. Stiles fixed him with a look, feeling a lot like Mellissa when they came home late after one shenanigan or another.

“Stiles, what are you doing up?” Scott asked, eyes still wide but at least not looking like he was about to bolt at any second anymore.

“Well, I texted you five thousand times yesterday; that should probably help you figure something out. I also tried to call you when I realized you weren’t coming back to the dorm and now as you can see,” he motioned to the crutches on his wall, “I’m not in the best condition. Sleep wasn’t very becoming last night. But who cares about me, right?”

Scott blinked, looking like he was having a hard time taking in the information. “Texts?” he asked at last, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, texts. Plural, as in more than one.”

“My phone died last night while I was hanging out with Allison. Bro, I… We went all the way.”

“What?” All the way? Stiles and Scott had been talking about going all the way with someone for years but neither one of them had ever come close to it. Scott hadn’t even told him that he was at that level with Allison. And to know that he had been ignored during a time of need because Scott was too busy sticking his dick into a girl he’d just met just infuriated him all the more.

“Yeah – Stiles it was amazing. I mean, well… For as long as it lasted it was amazing. You know what they show in porn it’s not really the same. I uh, I didn’t last as long as they did but Allison said she liked it and she liked it enough for us to do it another time later. Stiles, do you understand this? I’m no longer the virgin Scott!” It was clear that Scott was searching for someone to celebrate with him. The only one in a celebratory mood, though, was Scott. He had gained something – or lost something, whatever way he wanted to look at it – while Stiles had been suffering.

Scott was still going off about his experience. He rambled on about what Allison had smelled like, how it had felt, how it had built up to the moment. Stiles was still waiting to hear about the part where he “forgot” to charge his phone to at least tell him where he was after they hadn’t met up for dinner. He was even waiting to head how Scott had done on his pre-examinations. But the only thing he heard was Allison this and Allison that and oh my god, you cannot believe how great Allison is.

At one point Stiles couldn’t take any more. He waved his hand, sighing as he said, “Well, I’m glad you had fun Scott. If you don’t mind I’m going to go shower since I’m already awake now.”

He pushed up onto one foot, limping along with only his toe touching down on his injured foot so he could grab his small bathroom bag and fresh clothes.

“Whoa Stiles… Are you okay?” Scott asked.

“I’m fine,” was all Stiles answered. “When you check your phone, though, just delete all the messages, alright? I’m glad you and Allison had fun.”

“Stiles…”

“I’m going to go do some of my work in the library after, so you just chill out okay. Recover from your big night,” Stiles muttered, disappearing behind the bathroom door and sighing as he shut himself off from his friend.

 

 

 

Like Scott had done to him, Stiles decided to turn his phone off. For the entire day. And the day after that and even when his phone was on and Scott tried to text him, Stiles didn’t answer. Or if he did it was a curt answer that let the other know he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

It wasn’t like Stiles felt great about shutting out his best friend, but when he’d needed him the most Scott had replaced him with a girl. He just needed some time away from Scott now to get himself together. It wasn’t exactly the most fun thing going to his dance classes and see everyone working. As much as he wanted to go up on the floor and join them all. He’d tried once. He’d kept his crutches in the hallway and avoided giving the note to Mrs. Silver only to have her wave her own copy of the note that Deaton had expressed to her. And then he’d been forced to limp to the side of the class and watch everyone else.

Scott had thrown him looks throughout every class they’d shared together, theory or dance. Every now and then he’d try to throw him a message or a wave of his hand which Stiles either pretended he didn’t see or just responded to with a lazy flick of his own hand.

Derek, being one of the teachers, wasn’t exactly oblivious to his presence either. Every now and then he’d walk by him and tell him to take note of this or that.

For the most part, though, Stiles was alone. Only during their fifteen minute water break that separated the class in two did someone come by. As long as it wasn’t Scott, Stiles was okay with it. Or Lydia. Or Jackson. Danny could come swing his cute glutes all the way over to him but he wasn’t allowed to bring along his posse. Having Danny walk over was as much of a fantasy as having Derek press him up against a wall and fuck him until his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore, though.

All of these were fantasies, though. The person that approached Stiles was neither Danny nor Derek, but Isaac Lahey.

If there was anyone sweeter in the world Stiles wouldn’t be convinced until they were paired side by side with Isaac. They had never really spent any time together but Stiles knew him by association since he’d been hanging out with Scott in the beginning. They’d had two lunches together but nothing more than that to explore each other more.

But he was cute and if he wanted to sit next to him and sip his water then Stiles would watch those muscles work. He was going to abuse the view.

“Hey,” Isaac greeted, panting as he threw himself down onto the floor next to Stiles.

“Hey yourself,” Stiles greeted, raising an eyebrow. He grabbed a towel from one of the stacks they kept scattered around the room and passed it to Isaac. “Need one?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the other laughed, graciously accepting. He dabbed at the dew on his skin, cleaning off his face as best as he could and then folding the towel up to dangle around his neck

There was a pregnant pause where Stiles wondered why the other had even decided to come and sit with him. Stiles was not a patient person. He was just about to go and ask Isaac when he cut in for him.

“I know we don’t really hang out and I’m more Scott’s friend than yours,” he started, a sheepish look adorned on his face. “But I figured it’s never too late to make new friends, right? Plus, I know what it’s like to be injured too so I thought why not and come by…”

“So you came by to chill out? This isn’t something that Scott put you up to?” Stiles asked, still a bit sceptical but deciding to give the other a chance.

“Why would Scott put me up to this?”

“Ah… No reason,” Stiles laughed. “Guess this is where we try to break the awkward barrier and talk about normal things?”

“Guess so… What happened to your foot? If I can ask.”

 

“Achilles tendon. Screwed up on my jump, didn’t take care of my technique and now it’s mad at me… The physio said that I irritated an old injury so I’m out of commission until further notice.”

“Ouch…” Isaac winced, grimacing. “At least you get to sit in on the class. I remember I busted my hip a couple years ago and my teacher put me out for nearly a year. I sat in every class crying and she would tell me to suck it up.”

“What a life we’ve chosen.” Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, finding it ironic how an art as beautiful as ballet could be so ugly behind the scenes. So many people cried and became hypocrites. There was drama and injuries and so many other dark things that made the lives of dancers so hard. The mere time commitment and relinquishing your life to dance made it a difficult than a normal life.

A lot of ugly things happened in order to make something beautiful the product. That’s why Stiles loved it in a way. It gave him hope that he could make even the ugliest situations into something beautiful.

Wow… He probably should go talk to Scott then after class and start talking about physiotherapy to get his ankle back on track.

“I wouldn’t trade it,” Isaac hummed, taking another sip of his water.

“Neither would I,” Stiles agreed, allowing himself to smile.

Isaac leaned back, looking over the people appreciating their last few minutes of break. Finally his eyes turned to Stiles, who was staring back at him with the same amount of curiosity.

“Do you want to hang out later?” Isaac asked.

It took Stiles off guard to hear such a blunt question, especially when Isaac always came off as so shy. But then again the other’s cheeks were bright red and he was staring down at his thighs like they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Hang out?” Stiles repeated, a little surprised himself. “What would that entail?”

“Well…” He ruffled his hair. “Something like… I don’t know. We could do homework, get food, and watch a movie. I know you can’t really walk around all that much, so we can’t really dance or anything.”

“Oh so really hang out, hang out, with no one else?”

“Yeah… That was the idea,” Isaac muttered. He chanced a look at Stiles only to look away when he saw that Stiles was smiling at him.

It was refreshing to see someone be so bashful. These past few weeks Stiles had been used to Scott’s energetic bluntness and Derek’s harsh attitude, and Lydia’s god awful tone but this was new. He liked it. And since he wasn’t ready to quite make up with Scott yet – it was on his to-do list at least – he decided to jump on the band wagon and take a chance.

 

“Sure. When, though? I need to be prepared now that I’m moving twice as slow as normal,” Stiles agreed.

Now the tables were turned. Isaac looked torn between thrilled and shocked that Stiles had even considered his offer. The look of bewilderment on his face made Stiles laugh and reach over to pluck his towel off his shoulders. “You should get back on the floor before Derek bites your head off.”

“What?” Isaac blinked, looking over his shoulder to where everyone was already back in position, all eyes on them. “Oh, uh alright. I’ll meet you after class to go over the details,” he said in a rush, smiling sheepishly at Stiles who merely waved him off. For the rest of the class he found himself smiling, a little flattered and excited that someone would actually think him interesting enough to ask him to hang out and be nervous about it. Stiles was so preoccupied in his thoughts that he barely noticed the two other pairs of eyes that were trailing him coldly and the suspicious looks of a few others that shot to him every few minutes.

 

 

Isaac was nice. He was kind, charming, sweet and shyer than Stiles was used to but the last time he’d gone out with a guy – or anyone – was never, so he didn’t have much to compare Isaac to. Of course, he wasn’t the wild and daring Derek Hale he had day dreamed about more than once growing up in dance, but he wasn’t a total jack ass either like the real Derek Hale so that was fun.

When their movie had finished they had come back to Stiles dorm with the intent to do homework but it had just turned into a goof off. Stiles was never able to concentrate for more than ten minutes at a time on whatever paper he was writing so he’d chosen to entertain himself by drawing a comic narrating the night they’d had. It had ended up with them sharing a paper and adding features to make comical representations of people they didn’t like.

“Okay, but Lydia looks too pretty here. I mean, I know she’s gorgeous but she’s too bossy to be this perfect on paper. I think she at least needs a goatee and some Devil’s horns,” Stiles piped, nudging aside Isaac’s hand and adding in the little details with a red pen.

“That’s mean,” Isaac laughed.

“It wasn’t mean when we added hooves and a tail to Mrs. Silver.”

“Well, that woman is terrifying, she deserves her new additions.”

“Have you ever done pas-de-deux with Lydia Martin, Lahey? Because it’s more terrifying than having Mrs. Silver hollering at you the entire class.”

Isaac made a light commentary but as they moved in to add Lydia some red eyeballs to match her flaming red hair the door opened. Scott was the first to enter with Allison behind him. They looked to be in deep conversation with their heads stuck together and Scott muttering something that Stiles couldn’t pick up on.

When they noticed who was in the room they quickly sprung apart, looking as shocked as Isaac did when Stiles had accepted his proposal to hang out.

“Oh, Isaac, Stiles, what are you doing here?” Scott stuttered, letting his book bag fall down onto the hardwood while Allison skirted around him to sit on the bed across from the pair.

“Well Scott, this is our dorm and I live here too… So I guess I’m doing the same thing you’re doing?” Stiles asked, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm out of his voice.

The elephant in the room honked loudly at them all, screaming to be noticed, and yet the pair did everything they could to not acknowledge it. His internal speech about turning something beautiful out of something ugly had dissipated after he had remembered that this wasn’t just something ugly it was his best friend blowing him off so he could be blown for two minutes by a girl.

“I didn’t know you were going to be bringing someone over,” Scott huffed, following Allison to his bed though he didn’t sit down like she did.

“I didn’t know you were going to be bringing Allison over, so I think we’re even.”

“We didn’t think you’d be here,” Allison chose to chime in. “Scott said you usually danced at this time…”

Stiles dead panned. He let her take a second to mull over what she had just said before pointedly looking at his crutches, then to his foot and back at her. “Well, this just in, I can’t dance for the next two weeks… I thought Scott would remember that. I did tell him this morning and there was the whole I’m on crutches and I’m not allowed to join in on the dance class things. I was sitting in the room the entire morning but you might have just forgotten. It’s no big deal.”

“You don’t have to be such a dick,” Scott spat.

“You’re right, you’re right! I’m sorry for being a dick!” Stiles shouted, pushing away the papers that he and Isaac had been working on and reaching for his crutches. “And I’m sorry I thought I could count on you when I hurt myself. I’m sorry for sending you a bunch of texts begging for you to come pick me up and help me back to the dorm. I’m sorry that I didn’t care about hearing where you shoved your dick when you came back home and I’m sorry that I thought our friendship meant more to you because the second Allison came into the picture I became a ghost. And I’m so sorry Scott that you didn’t get the dorm alone tonight because I decided to have a fun time with someone who just so happens to notice that I exist. Really, I’m so sorry!” After his tirade Stiles knew that he couldn’t stick around. “Come on Isaac,” he mumbled in shame to his guest, taking his crutches and guiding the way out of the dorm.

He knew that he had crossed a line but there was only so much he could take after being alone for two months. What had happened the day before had been the shit at the bottom of the hole. Whatever had happened back there had been necessary to get that message out to Scott. Stiles admitted he could have been gentler, especially with Allison since she really hadn’t done any of this on purpose. He should have been happy for them but he couldn’t find it in him to find happiness.

Out in the hallway Stiles didn’t stop until they reached the lounge on the first floor. He sighed and threw himself onto a couch, waiting until Isaac had settled in before starting in on his apologies.

“I’m sorry you had to see that… I can totally understand if you want to bail right now. I didn’t exactly show you my best face,” he sighed, running a hand over his face.

A short minute of silence passed between the two boys. Isaac shifted in his seat so he could lean in and then leaned back only to change his mind again and lean back in. “I know what it’s like to feel forgotten,” he started off quietly, rubbing at his wrist with one hand. “And to be frank, seeing you as something other than the goofy kid with the perfect pirouettes is refreshing.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve had people run away before when they’ve seen different sides of me. Some people don’t understand that people are multidimensional and the happy side isn’t always the only side to that person.”

“No, no, I got that, go back to the goofy guy and perfect pirouettes thing.”

A melodious laugh chimed out of Isaac. His head tilted back and showed off the curve of his jaw and the line of his neck. His Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed and started up his fit of chuckles again. When his chin fell down and his brown eyes fixed on Stiles again they were full of amusement.

“What about your goofiness and perfect pirouettes?” he challenged, balancing his elbows on his knees.

“You think I have perfect pirouettes?” Stiles asked, smiling and leaning in himself.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, your pirouettes aren’t half bad either. As long as you keep your toes pointed you should be good.”

“Oh, you’re schooling me on pirouettes now? One compliment and you’re the champion?”

“That’s how things tend to go, no?” Stiles asked.

As they jabbered back and forth they leaned in to one another. Closer and closer until there were but a mere few inches separating their noses. Stiles could feel the brush of Isaac’s breath as he spoke. He could smell the coffee the man had had earlier when they’d gone to watch the movie and the mints he had slid to him and snacked on himself when they’d been doodling back in the dorm.

They were so close. Close enough that if Stiles had wanted to he could have pushed forward and locked their lips together. Their laughs were dwindling off quickly, too, building up to the moment. If Stiles didn’t make up his mind soon he would find himself locking lips with someone that he had only started talking to seriously that morning. Is this what he wanted? Was he the type of guy who didn’t bother to get to know someone before kissing them? Then again, this was just a kiss, it wasn’t like they were going to be going to his dorm and fooling around or anything. Stiles could barely walk anyway so that would cut away from the mood and Isaac didn’t seem like the type who would whisk someone away to his bed either. Good God, what was he even doing thinking of kissing Isaac when he didn’t even know if he liked him more than that?

Too late.

Isaac’s lips shyly pressed onto his abused ones. At first he let it happen, not exactly kissing back but not pulling away either. And when he realized he still had his eyes open he pulled away, squeezing his hand into a fist to keep himself under control.

“Sorry…” he muttered, feeling the flush crawling up his cheeks even as he muttered it.

The same type of look was plastered on Isaac’s face. The gentle giant refused to look at Stiles as they tried to gather their bearings. He cleared his throat a couple times and tapped his flat hands on the tops of his thighs. “That was fun,” he breathed through a nervous laugh. To which Stiles nodded, despite not being sure himself as to whether or not he could classify it as ‘fun’.

“Yeah,” was all Stiles could reply to weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac apologized, sighing and carding his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that. This wasn’t even a date or anything. Forget it happened, alright?”  
Stiles puffed out his cheeks and nodded. This was something that he didn’t want to deal with now. He didn’t need another regret added on to his list for the week. “Uh yeah… Sure.”

“I uh, it’s getting close to curfew. I should get back to my building. I um… I gave you my number right?”

“Yeah, text me, okay? I can’t guarantee another kiss but… You’re fun Isaac.” Stiles tried to laugh it off, even with the awkwardness between them, but it came off more nervous than he had intended. It felt like Isaac felt it too because when he stood up he was practically a walking rhubarb stem, sheepishly holding onto the back of his neck.

He gave a quick nod and flit out of the lounge and out to the next room that would lead to one of the side exits on the building. Stiles watched him disappear, his mind flurrying with everything that had happened today. Curfew was creeping up steadily on him but with the outburst he’d had with Scott before he didn’t feel like going back up to face him. On the other hand he couldn’t go dance off his confusion either. And with Isaac gone and this new whatever-this-was between them he didn’t even have anyone to –

“Curfew Stilinski!”

Stiles snapped his head up, looking around for the source of the voice.

“Start moving.”

He looked to his left, squinting to see across the room (his contacts were burning his eyes from how dry they were). Derek walked across the lounge, not making a detour to face Stiles on his way to the exit, and narrowed his green eyes in his direction. His last warning.

“Sir, yes sir!” Stiles called out without the energy, grimacing as he got up from the chair, grabbed his crutches and moved the opposite way from the dancer.

And there he had it; yet another question without an answer that he could ponder throughout the night.


End file.
